Keep Me In the Light, and I'll Save You From the Dark
by darkbluesharpie
Summary: Luministia are people of light and happiness. There was a time when they were revered and respected, when they guided humanity in the darkness, and were said to have been descended from Angels. Now, they are hunted and killed for their powers. Dean has been on the run most of his life, living in fear that he would be discovered and taken. Until a blue-eyed stranger did just that.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Keep Me In the Light, and I'll Save You From the Dark  
**Pairing**: Dean/Castiel  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Warnings**: attempted rape/non-con (not Dean/Castiel), kidnapping, mention of minor cannon character deaths, nyctophobia, control!kink, virgin!Dean, creature!Dean, protective!Castiel  
**Summary**: Luministia are people of light and happiness. There was a time when they were revered and respected, when they guided humanity in the darkness, and were said to have been descended from Angels. Now, they are hunted and killed for their powers. Dean has been on the run most of his life, living in fear that he would be discovered and taken. Until a blue-eyed stranger did just that.  
**Alternative summary**: Dean has powers and it's really rare and he glows when he's happy, and Castiel likes to make him glow.  
**Author's Notes**: I don't even know where this came from, one night I was just like, "Dean is so pretty, it's like he glows when he smiles." Then this happened. I will give warnings before each chapter if it contains trigger content.  
**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, nor do I make any profits from this story. I hope you guys like it. I apologize for any grammatical issues and misspellings, this is unbeta'd.

* * *

**Chapter Warnings**: mentions of minor cannon character death, angst, and Dean runs for his life. Castiel doesn't come in until the very end of the chapter. My apologies.

* * *

Mary closed her eyes and tried to get her breathing under control. Minutes passing felt like hours after they took him away, until finally, the smiling doctor gently handed her a wrapped bundle and time seemed to stop altogether. The sight of her son in her arms immediately eclipsed the remnants of the pain from his birth.

It took some time, but the baby eventually stopped his crying and drifted off to sleep, exhausted from coming into the world. Above his restful state, his proud parents gazed at him with sheer joy. They pointed out features, played the "he has your nose" game, talked about all the things they were going to do as a family, and finally gave him his name- Dean Winchester. He was perfect.

And then he woke up.

Dean opened his eyes slowly, and they immediately fell on Mary's. Her sudden gasp caught John's attention, and he stood up from his chair beside her bed to look at what had warranted Mary's shock, before mirroring it himself.

Dean had green eyes. That in and of itself was not unusual, plenty of people in his family had green eyes, but Dean's were unnaturally bright, almost reflective. John glanced at Mary and saw her staring fearfully back at him. Before John had a chance to calm her that it might be nothing, their fears were confirmed when Dean smiled at them.

The effect started at his eyes, and spread over his face like a blush. A soft glow covered all of his exposed skin until they were sure they would be able to see him in the dark. He continued to smile up at them, happy as a new born could be, while his parents gazed back with dread and fear- not of him, but _for_ him.

Mary covered Dean with his blanket, shielding him from potentially avaricious eyes while John made arrangements to have them checked out early.

* * *

Dean shut the door of his car, and started his trek down the street, the envelope of large bills tucked safely in his jacket pocket. Even in the dark of the late hour, he could still make out the familiar houses as he passed them. A couple of blocks later, he stopped outside of a humble white suburban house, gazing through the window from across the street at the young man sitting on a couch and talking on a phone.

It had been almost eight months since Dean had last seen Sam in November, but it might as well have been six years, given how much he missed him. As much as it pained him to distance himself from his family, he knew it was a necessary precaution. Just seeing Sam, even from this distance, nearly made his skin prickle, but it had been a long time since he lost control like that.

As glad as he was to see his little brother, safe and secure in their home, all he had to do was remember- what he was, how he was a danger to his family, that he had been reduced to gazing longingly at his own home without being able to enter it- and the feeling of joy immediately receded. Sam was better off as far away from him as possible. It was enough to take the happiness out of anyone's eyes.

The drop off had to be timed just right; he couldn't risk Sam hearing his footsteps come up the path, or seeing him through the window. It would have been easier to just put the envelope in the mailbox, but he couldn't run the risk of a postal worker finding it before a Winchester did.

When Sam got up and left the living room, and the bathroom light clicked on, Dean seized his chance. His father's large black truck was parked in the driveway, but the darkness upstairs told Dean that John must be sleeping. He moved as fast as he could without making too much noise, wedged the envelope in the door frame, and knocked on the door just loudly enough that he knew Sam would hear it.

He was sprinting through their neighbor's backyard before Sam left the bathroom.

This had been his routine once every other month, always on random days so his family wouldn't be able to put together a pattern for when to expect him. They couldn't know he was coming, and Dean couldn't risk them getting caught being in contact with him.

He was panting by the time he climbed into his beloved Chevy Impala and left the familiar houses behind him. He wished he could have parked closer; running around in people's backyards at night was a little creepy, but his family was sure to identify the distinct sound of his car, and would have known he was there.

As street lights flickered past, and he searched around for a motel to crash in for a few hours, he thought back to the envelope. Just a scrap piece of paper with a scribbled "I'm fine. -D.W." amongst all of the money Dean could spare crammed inside a small white rectangle once every month or two- that was the extent of his communication with his family. It made the isolation tolerable, knowing that he could at least provide his family small amounts of money to make up for his absence.

A few hours later, Dean pulled into a run-down motel once there was a comfortable number of miles between himself and Lawrence. The curtains drawn shut, he laid back on the bed, fast food wrappers spread out next to him and a beer from the gas station in his hand. He focused all of his attention onto the Star Trek marathon, and let his misery fall into the background. He was just about to start his next beer when there was a knock on the door.

Dean jerked his head at the sudden noise, casting a wary eye upon the entrance to the room, face filled with apprehension as he immediately started drawing up every worse case scenario his mind could think of.

He was followed. Someone must have been watching their house. How sure was he that he hadn't slipped? He was happy to see Sam, and even the tiniest glimmer of his eyes could have been seen in the dark. Was there an ambush waiting for him on the other side of the door? A group of people that coveted his powers, or just one person? It could be the government, black suits and black cars wanting to take him away for "observation," which Dean knew was their was of saying experimentation.

He crept towards the door, pressing the barrel of his gun against the back of it, and glanced through the peephole.

It was Sam.

His sigh carried his relief and exasperation, and he smiled despite himself. Because it was _Sammy._ His skin started it's pleasant tingling sensation as he unlocked the door, stepping behind it as it opened so he would be hidden from view until it shut again.

And there he was- tall and lanky and taking up too much room, shaggy head of hair, worn-down plaid shirt, and just _there_. Dean couldn't stop the smile forming on his face if he had it in him to try. One of them took a large step forward- Dean couldn't tell who- and then they were hugging, one of those full-body, it's-been-too-long hugs.

When they broke apart, Dean could see his glow casting light on Sam, and reflecting in his eyes.

"Glad to see you too, Dean," Sam smirked at him.

"Haha, yeah," Dean looked away. The rush of emotions was mixing with his beers and making him slightly disoriented. "Hey, give me a sec, would you? I'm just gonna splash some water on my face." He walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and trying to compose himself.

Turning the tap on, he drenched his hands under the stream before running them over his face, trying to get his bearings straight. It had been a long time since he let go like this. He put off looking in the mirror for as long as he could, but caught sight of his arm as he reached for a towel.

It wasn't the brightest he had ever been, as this wasn't the happiest he had ever felt, but there was a soft glow to his skin. A few freckles stood out a little brighter than the rest of his complexion, shimmery dots trailing up his arms and over his body.

His gaze followed them in the mirror until he landed on his face. Dean had always thought himself to be an attractive man by average standards, but that wasn't the reason he stared mesmerized at his own reflection. His face was emitting a soft light, not a full-on glow, but enough that it was noticeable. His freckles here stood out the most, some shining brighter than his skin, some remaining dark and adding contrast. His dry lips looked wet, and when he pressed them together, he could feel their warmth. Slowly, very slowly, he met his eyes in the mirror.

A thin solid circle around his pupils shined like reflectors, bright and alluring. And around that- green. Every shade of it that you could think of glimmered in his irises; dark specks, bright patterns, all of it shimmering like the sun's reflection off of water. It was beautiful, even he couldn't help but think so.

And Dean hated it- hated what it meant, what it marked him as.

With a sigh, he dried his face, and pulled away from his reflection back to the room where Sam was waiting.

There was a heavy moment between them, the kind where they could both sense an argument coming before the words were even said, but they drew it out, putting it off as long as they could, until Dean broke the silence.

"So how'd you find me, anyway?"

"Hate to break it to you, Dean, but your car's not exactly inconspicuous," Sam said with a smirk. "And it's not like you'd be in a penthouse suite." He briefly looked down, his jaw set, and Dean knew that face- it meant his brother was preparing his argument. Dean knew the points his bother was going to make before they were even said. "Listen, Dean-"

"No, Sam," Dean interrupted. "We are not going to have this talk. It was good to see you, but we both know-"

"Know _what_?" Sam snapped, looking back at Dean with defiance. "That running off without a word was the only option? That going radio silent for _months_ at a time was your best choice? That-"

"That it was the _only_ way to keep you guys safe. You know that, Sam, you know the people who are after me. The more miles I put between us, the safer you are, end of discussion." Dean gritted out. He didn't understand why Sam didn't _get it_. Didn't he see the danger he was in just by being in the same room as Dean?

"Look," Sam's voice went forcibly calm, trying to get Dean to see reason. "I know you have this bizarre notion which makes you think that by keeping your distance, you're protecting us-" Dean snorted. "-but it can't keep going on like this. _I_ can't keep going on like this."

Dean frowned at Sam, a small crease of confusion resting between his eyebrows.

"You don't know, Dean," Sam sighed. "You don't know what it's been like. I mean, you just up and left out of no where, no warning, no goodbye-"

"I left a note," Dean reasoned halfheartedly, a look of guilt on his dimming face.

"Yeah," Sam huffed an unamused laugh. "A _note_. Hell of a thing to come home to, don't you think? One sentence, just 'I'm sorry, but I have to do this. Take care of Dad.' Twelve words. And that was _it._ And then nothing, not for _months_. Not until an envelope appears on our doorstep, with an even smaller note, some crumpled up cash, and what, you think that's enough?"

"I'm making as much money as I can-"

"_Money?_" Sam nearly shouted. He took a deep breath, the color in his face lightening as he tried to calm himself down, and Dean had a fleeting moment to appreciate the nostalgia of their childhood arguments. "I don't care about the _money_, Dean. I care about _you_. I can't keep going on like this, not knowing if you're okay, if something has happened to you, waiting to see if someone found you..." Sam trailed off, and Dean saw the wary look in his eyes when Sam looked down. He looked tired, worried, even scared. For Dean. _Because_ of Dean.

"You think I want this?" Dean grit through his teeth, frustration just barely masking his guilt. "You think this is easy for me? To have left without a word to you, to have to be on the run _all_ the time, to know that you are better off _without_ me?"

Sam took a deep breath. "I understand you think you're protecting me. No, really, I do," Sam insisted when Dean made to interrupt. "But why does that mean you can't call me? Every once in a while, from different payphones, or a prepaid phone? Doesn't have to be everyday, just enough so that- so that I know you're okay?"

Dean held his little brother's gaze for a moment before ducking his head. He could feel his glow dimming, but still remaining stubbornly present, his frustration at the situation not being enough to abate his joy at seeing Sammy.

Try as he might, his resolve was breaking- he was going to lose this fight. Though, he reasoned, Sam had a good point. It would be risky, and they would have to take precaution, but he couldn't deny the fact that getting to talk to Sam directly and more often was something he wanted, and maybe he didn't want to put up too big of a fight against it. When he looked up again, he could see Sam at the ready with another argument should Dean continue to debate him. The thought make him glow just a touch brighter.

"You're gonna make one hell of a lawyer someday," Dean smirked at him.

Their night became easier after that. Sam stayed for another hour, reasoning with a reluctant Dean that if anyone had followed either of them, they would have known about it by now. They talked, Sam about school, Dean about what he's been up to- mostly his odd jobs, all without too much detail. Dean promised to buy a burner cell phone, and would call Sam within the week. All too soon, Sam was walking to the door.

"And remember-" Dean started.

"Don't take a joint from a guy named Don, yeah, I know," Sam mused, rolling his eyes with a laugh.

With a nod and a last lingering look at each other, their goodbyes stuck in their throat, Sam opened the door, and Dean hid behind it to block him from view from the world outside. He watched through the peephole as his kid brother got into their dad's truck and drove away.

Dean got ready for bed with optimistic thoughts in his head; he was going to keep in touch with Sam, know that he was ok, or if he needed help. He would get to hear about how he was doing, talk to him about his day, hear him complain about school, laugh about the girls he liked. Just like it used to be.

He may not be home, but at least he could have some shelter.

His skin was humming with light when he pulled the covers over himself, and for the first time in memory, he didn't try to stop it.

* * *

There was once a time when Luministia were revered and respected by all of humanity. Before electricity, back when the only means of having vision after the sun went down was fire and variations of moonlight, people relied on the kindness of Luministia to guide them in the dark, to provide protection when they were at their most vulnerable.

There was a time when they were loved, worshiped even. Myths claimed them to to have been descended from Angels, sent from Heaven to keep mankind safe. Powerful and mystical, they were light manifested in a human being, celestial creatures walking among them.

Dean had laughed the first time he read the Wikipedia page on Luministia. "_Angels on earth_," "_Celestial beings_," yeah fucking right. If he were "_descended from Heaven_," why did he have to fight so damn hard not to be killed off? Surely an _Angel_, he mocked, would be better at protecting themselves.

It was true he had come physical assets that accompanied his condition, some benefits that others might interpret as powers. For starters, he had a very strong immune system. That would sound pretty normal for your average healthy person and not altogether impressive before learning that Luministia were automatically immune to all viruses, bacterial infections, and general illnesses known to man. Their blood had many medicinal properties, and could even be used to treat and cure some diseases. Dean himself had never so much as had a runny nose.

His skin was useful for more than just looking pretty in the dark; it was resistant to direct burns, as well as extreme temperatures. He could stay in freezing water all day, and he wouldn't so much as shiver. Luministia also had perfect vision, and could even see in the dark, whether or not they were glowing. Their muscles could endure more pressure than the average man, making them abnormally strong for their size, and though there was no living example, it was rumored they aged slower, and had the potential to reach the age of 150.

And it was because of these "powers" that Luministia had gone from Heavenly protectors to prized game. They used to be great in number, with one Luministia watching over fifty humans, but they had been driven to near extinction, and were extremely rare, with less than a hundred registered born each year. Then again, there could be more out there- Dean himself was unregistered, as his mother had taken him home from the hospital before he could be discovered by a doctor.

Lucky thing, too. It was one of those things everyone knew about, but no one brought up. Like how those who preached immigration reform paid illegal aliens to mow their lawn and so forth. If a Luministia is documented at birth, that child is taken away from the birth parents, and placed into a government research program. From there, they grow up being lab rats. How else could they have proven that Luministia were immune to every known ailment if they weren't experimented on?

Dean might have escaped being a guinea pig, but he was far from safe. Given that a pint of his blood currently went for five thousand dollars on the black market, he would never be safe out in the open, should anyone discover what he was.

But there were worse fates for Luministia than just having some blood taken.

Dean wanted to curse whoever discovered it, the transitive properties of his abilities. He didn't understand the science of it, but he knew, thanks to the freaks on the internet, the mechanics of it. It all had to do with virginity.

Luministia were supposed to be pure beings of light and happiness, and somehow, if you made one glow and took their virginity, it granted you worthy of their powers. It reminded him of those old movies with psychics or fortunetellers, how they lost their gifts after they laid with a man. It wouldn't the same for him, as Luministia didn't lose their powers after sex, they only shared them. All it meant to Dean, however, was that dating was off the table.

Not that he could ever just date someone, anyway. Being in a relationship implied some amount of happiness, and happiness meant exposure. No, he was far safer keeping his distance. He was safer being alone, he told himself, and he tried not to dwell on the thought of living to 150 and still being lonely.

* * *

It was hot, even for Kansas in the summer.

After some debate, he had decided not to go too far from home after his little meeting with Sam. There were risks, sure, but if someone had followed him, if he had led a potential threat to his family's doorstep, he wanted to be close enough to be able to do something about it.

Besides, there were plenty of odd jobs right here in his home state. Today, it was assisting a couple of girls move some heavy furniture and boxes into their new apartment. It was a nice little place, one that spoke of being spoiled and rich.

The girls, likely in their mid-twenties, watched him as he went from room to room, advising him on what went where. They giggled when he would wink at them. Easy money.

It should have raised someone's interest that he was doing so much work in ninety degree weather, and wasn't breaking a sweat or showing signs on needing to slow down, but his temporary employers were too busy checking out his ass when he walked away to pay the oddity any notice. It was fortunate for Dean, as he usually had to put on a front, pretend he was getting worn down and needed a break to avoid suspicion. He just wanted to get done as fast as possible and get his money so he could go back to the motel and call Sam.

The weekly phone calls were becoming the highlight of his life, which might be just the tiniest bit depressing, but Dean couldn't care; he got so happy hearing his brother on the other line, he had taken to grabbing a pillow, and making himself comfortable in the bathtub, curtain drawn and bathroom door closed to assure no one could see his glow from outside his motel room.

About two hours and some easy flirting later, Dean had earned his two hundred dollars in cash. As expected, the girls had wanted him to stay "for drinks." They were attractive and young, and he would have accepted in a heartbeat were he literally anyone else, but as he was stuck being Dean Winchester, he had to decline. They had countered his rejection by taking off their clothes and saying they were going to go try out their new jacuzzi, and he was welcome to join in if he changed his mind.

He hightailed it out of there as fast as he could, before they could add to the deal.

An hour later, after he had returned to the motel with a six pack and settled himself on the cold floor of the bathtub, he fished his phone out of his jeans pocket, and dialed the only number he had memorized.

"Hey, Dean," Sam picked up on the second ring, and at the sound of his voice, Dean felt his face start to prickle. "Been waiting for you to call."

They kept to the usual topics- Dean's jobs, and Sam's summer vacation. He could tell by the way he talked about his school that he was itching to head back to Stanford. Dean had been to California a few times, but never in that area. He fantasized what it might be like to visit Sam there, even if he knew he never would.

"Well?" Sam asked, and Dean knew he had missed something, too distracted by his bright fingertips as he played with a loose string on his shirt.

"Sorry, say that again."

Ignoring the sigh on the other line, Dean listened to his brother's question.

"I said Dad wants to see you," Sam repeated. "Just a small visit. He misses you, Dean."

"What did you tell him?" Dean immediately asked. He should have known Sam wouldn't have kept their talks to himself.

"Nothing big," Sam assured him. "Just that you were safe, and I had seen you."

Dean wanted to be frustrated at his brother for telling their Dad even that much, but he couldn't be. He knew how much John must worry about him, especially after what happened to their Mom, how Dean had just left... Sam visited when he could, but he would be going back to college soon, and his Dad would be on his own again. The guilt ate up at him from the inside. He couldn't help but blame himself for John being all alone.

"Are you sure he wants to see me?" Dean muttered after a short pause trying to sound indifferent, but it came out with his insecurity.

"Of course he does," Sam replied. "Dean, you know he doesn't blame you, right? He knows it wasn't your fault."

"Yeah," Dean said, wanting to drop the topic. "Yeah, alright. Look, I'll think about it, okay?"

That was enough for Sam. After a bit more conversation, mostly to put that last topic behind them, Sam said he was heading out soon, and Dean said he needed to shower.

When he got out of the tub, he paused in front of the mirror; he hadn't even realized he had stopped glowing. With a frown, he turned from his reflection and stripped off his shirt, hoping a shower would help clear his head and ease some of the guilt knotting in his stomach.

* * *

Something kept coming up. That was his excuse not to head down to Lawrence every time Sam checked in with him. They both knew it was not accidental; Dean would take up any last minute job if it meant he could delay seeing John.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see him; Dean missed his father almost as much as he had missed Sam before the phone calls. He wanted to see john, wanted to talk to him, to hear what was going on with him, but he couldn't ignore the stigma between them. Just as he knew his dad missed him, Dean could also sense the impending argument.

Because Dean hadn't just walked out on Sam, after all. And then there was the not-so-little ball of guilt in his stomach every time he thought about home, about his mother. John didn't have to blame him, Dean put plenty of blame on himself for the both of them.

Mary Winchester was the epitome of what a mother was supposed to be; caring and protective, beautiful and smart. She never never let a night pass without a bedtime story, and always baked homemade pie on the weekend, with Dean there to help stir and maybe sneak some filling when her back was turned. Not that it was ever necessary, as she always let him lick the spoon after.

Dean had loved her. As it wasn't safe for him to go to public school, she had quit her job and home-schooled him. It was harder for Dean to control his emotions back then, but with warm apple pie in his stomach, and his mother's praise always on hand, he had never felt the need to suppress his glow. And his mother always smiled so brightly at him when she saw how happy he was.

Perhaps if he was more careful, she would still be here. But she wasn't, and now there were no more homemade pies, no more bright smiles, no more thinking that it was safe to to happy.

Almost a month after their talk, Dean finally conceded to heading to Lawrence. Even he knew he had been putting it off too long, and couldn't bear to have another talk with Sam where he explained the excuse-of-the-week, and listened to his brother's disappointed sigh on the other end. It was time to bite the bullet. He hopped in his Impala, and pulled onto the highway, and if he decided to go the speed limit on the way, it was just because he wanted to be a safe driver.

They had agreed on meeting at the old cabin near the lake where they used to go fishing. It was a good spot because they owned it, making the area private land. It was also secluded, and surrounded by trees, and therefore safe for Dean to run around and be a kid with no reservations. They were so happy then, and he had loved it here.

But now, when he pulled up to the desolate wooden house, he felt nothing but resentment for it. It was nothing but a painful reminder of the life he used to have, but could never have again. He had once felt safe here, had let himself think that he was untouchable. That confidence had led to his mother's death, and he blamed safe havens like this for letting him believe that.

John's black truck was already there, and he saw the curtain at the front window get pushed aside. The nerves started to kick in as he got out of his Impala, and walk heavily towards the door. He stood there for a brief second, debating whether or not to knock, before the decision was rendered moot, and it was opened wide.

Right there in front of him, tall and intimidating, stood his father; he looked exactly as he remembered, except maybe with some more scruff than he was used to. They stayed like that for a moment, quiet and assessing. Dean didn't know what to do, what to say, or even if he should do or say anything.

Then, without warning, John reached forward and pulled Dean in for a full body hug. He didn't know how to react for a moment- even back before Mary's death, John had never been the emotional type- but everything was different now. They had lost his mother. Dean had run away, taking the blame with him. If there was ever a time for a father-son moment, this was it, and Dean hugged him back.

When they broke apart, Dean could see his father was trying- and failing- to put on a poker face, to hide what seeing Dean meant to him, and that more than the hug was what triggered it. The prickling sensation warmed his face, and before he could try and shut it down, John pulled him inside the cabin, away from the potential dangers of passing hunters or hikers.

Sam was standing in the living room, and gave Dean a short one-armed hug when he walked in, patting him on the back. Dean could tell how glad he was that he was here, that they were finally all together.

After a small awkward moment where they all stood in the living room and tried not to stare at each other, John broke the tension by offering Dean a beer, and he gladly accepted before sitting down. Thinking quickly, before they had time to lapse into another weird silence, Sam launched into a conversation about his plans for college next year, and Dean and John listened politely and gave their opinions and laughed at his jokes and it was so easy and normal, Dean almost forgot all of his anxiety about why he didn't want to come in the first place.

They talked for some time, Sam about his life in California, and John about his work. Then it was Dean's turn, and the nerves kicked up a few notches.

"I've been, uh," he started uncertainly, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "Just traveling, I guess. Try not to stay in the same place too long, you know?"

Silence followed his statement, and he took another swig of beer to have something to do.

"You didn't have to leave," John said, his voice quiet but firm.

And there it was, the conversation he didn't want to have.

"Yes," Dean said right back. "I did."

"You should have talked to us, Dean, that wasn't just your choice to make."

Dean did not back down from his father's gaze. He knew without a shadow of doubt that he made the right call in leaving. Did he wish there was any other option? Of course, but when it came to his family's safety, there wasn't. It had already been proven that being around Dean was dangerous, even fatal, and he had to put them above his own selfish wants.

"You know why I have to stay away, Dad-"

"No, I really don't," John said, and there was another pause. "It wasn't your fault, Dean-"

"_Don't_." Dean snapped. "Don't you sit there and tell me that it was some accident, some chance-"

"We're not saying that," Sam chimed in. "In wasn't an accident, but it wasn't your fault either. She was protecting you-"

"Exactly!" Dean fought to keep from yelling. "She was protecting me, they weren't after her. If it weren't for me, she'd still be alive. Mom would still be alive, and that's on _me_."

There was a short pause before John spoke up again.

"Mary wouldn't have wanted this for you."

The glass bottle of beer made a sharp sound when Dean put it on the coffee table perhaps a little harder than he had meant to, and he got up to leave the living room. This had been a mistake, he had known it, he never should have come here. He vaguely heard some protest from Sam, but it had stopped abruptly when John said to let him go.

He stormed outside before he realized he had left his jacket on the couch, and thus his phone and keys as well. Not ready to go back inside, he picked a direction at random and trekked off into the woods.

In was close to sunset, the trees making it even darker, but that had never been an obstacle for Dean. His eyes adjusted perfectly to the shadows of the woods. Time passed with no meaning as he pushed the argument into the back of his mind, making himself numb to it. Eventually he reached a clearing as the lake came into view, meaning he had just walked about three miles, taking the long way from the road.

Just ten feet away was where Mom had taught him and Sam how to skip stones, while Dad fished for their dinner.

Like a levee breaking, Dean's knees buckled under him and he collapsed to the ground and sobbed. It was his fault. Nothing anyone would ever say could change the facts. When Mary had died, Dean felt like he was broken; the weight of everything had hit him so hard, he couldn't cry or mourn her, all he could think about was getting as far away from Sam and Dad as he could. Maybe if he had done that sooner... but it was too late for her, and he could still protect the rest of his family.

He gripped his hair and tried to hold himself together, cause it felt like he was coming apart. His breaths were sharp and ragged, and his chest was on fire and he couldn't breathe. Everything they had told him in the cabin rang loudly in his head as his grief ripped through him. He had had the most amazing person in his life- a mother who loved and protected him, and it was his fault she was gone, not just from his life, but from Sam's, from John's... His father now had to live out the rest of his days without the love of his life, all because Dean had been reckless and selfish.

Some Angel he was.

Just as the thought manifested, he felt a sharp and sudden pain in his thigh, and he cried out in agony. When he looked down, he saw a dart sticking out of his leg, and he yanked it out, staring at it in confusion. Before he could register what was going on, he heard movement from somewhere to his left, and he turned towards it; with his enhanced vision, he saw a man standing behind some trees just outside of the clearing. The stranger raised his gun again, aiming it right at Dean.

With a jolt, he sprang to his feet and bolted into the woods.

He got about fifty yards before whatever he was shot with started to take effect- it didn't make his dizzy or tired; no, it was much, much worse. Dread coursed through him like cold water as he felt his face start to prickle.

No. No, there was _no_ way he could be glowing right now- there wasn't a trace of happiness in his entire being. What the hell did that guy dose him with? How did he know what Dean was? Either way, whatever he was hit with had forced him into a glow. Right here, in the middle of the secluded woods. Miles away from the safety of the cabin.

The realization struck him like a blow to the stomach, and he ran even faster. Because he wasn't just being chased- he was being hunted. This man knew he was Luministia, and if he was forcing Dean into a glow, that could only mean one thing.

It was a not-so-small blessing that was so fast, maybe even fast enough to get to the cabin, and jump in the Impala before this freak caught up to him. The drug was spreading quickly, and Dean could feel his skin buzzing with light. He hadn't shined this hard in years, and he knew he must look like a beacon in the dark of the woods. There would be no hiding, no concealing himself behind a tree or in a bush. There was no other option for him than to run, run as fast as he could, put as much distance between him and anyone out here that could-

The impact had knocked the wind out of him, and he fell hard onto his back. In his frantic fleeing, it was all he could do not to trip on a root, but the tree seemed to have just come out of no where. It took him longer than it should have to realize that what he had hit was much softer than a tree, and he sat bolt upright when he heard a low, pained groan.

His glow cast the man into a shifty, silvery light, and he watched in horror as the stranger sat up at looked at him with wide eyes and an audible gasp. He was dressed in a tan overcoat and dress shoes- definitely not a hiker- but what Dean really took in about his appearance was his eyes, so bright and blue. They just stared at each other, stupefied by the sudden collision, until Dean could hear running in the distance, and with a jolt, he snapped back to his senses.

With a quick motion, he jumped up and ran past the man on the dirt ground.

"Wait!" the stranger called out, and Dean wanted to jeer at him- as if he would just stop and let himself be violated because someone had asked him to stop running.

The forest floor flew under his feet as he passed over miles of hiking trails. His chest was tight with the need to catch his breath, and his legs were cramping from exertion, but he refused to slow down. The prospect that he might now have two men chasing him while he was glowing made him continue throwing one foot in front of the other until he could see the light from the cabin up ahead.

He threw the heavy wooden door open when he reached it, and collapsed once he was safely inside. Sam was at his side in an instant, and Dean tried to explain through his huffs of breath.

There was a hunter. He was coming. They had to book it, like, right the fuck now.

Sam had half-carried, half-dragged a fully glowing Dean to the Impala, grabbing the keys from Dean's jacket pocket and driving his brother out of the woods, John following close behind him in his truck.

His last thoughts before passing out were those of startled blue eyes, and the feeling that the hunter had, for some reason, stopped following him.

* * *

The wake of Dean's near attack had left the Winchesters exhausted and scared.

Hours after fleeing the cabin, Dean woke up on a lumpy motel bed, sore and achy. The brightness behind the drawn curtain told him it was early morning, and when he tried to sit up, his muscles protested. He must have made some sort of sound, because Sam sat up from the bed next to him and went to his side.

Sam handed him a bottle of pain killers and a glass of water, explaining that they were about fifty miles outside Lawrence, and John had gone out for breakfast.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked.

There was a sharp pain radiating from him thigh, and it took him a moment to remember the dart that had hit him, and the drug that had forced him to glow. He looked down at his hands, and was surprised to see his was still emitting a bit of faint light.

"Peachy," Dean replied.

A long awkward silence fell between the brothers, their last conversation hanging over them like a dense cloud. Before one of them could break it, though, the motel room door opened, and John walked through it with paper bags filled with cheap fast food. He glanced at Dean before he sat down in the chair next to his bed and started passing out the breakfast sandwiches.

His father and Sam both looked worse for the wear, their eyes bloodshot, and their movements sluggish; they must have stayed up all night watching him.

When the food was consumed, and the wrappers littered the bed, Dean began explaining what had happened after he left the cabin before someone could ask. He left out the parts where he remembered their life at the lake and broke down, and skipped right to the hunter, the dart, the chase. There was a brief pause where he considered telling them about the blue eyed man, but decided against it; he didn't see him as a threat.

After Dean's story, Sam filled him in on their end; they hightailed it out of there, and basically kept driving until they were out of gas. When they got to the motel, they had to wrap Dean in a blanket, because they couldn't stop his glowing. Dean had an amusing moment as he imagined what that scene must have looked like, them dragging in a wrapped body-shaped figure into a motel at night. They were lucky there were no passersby.

Silence followed Sam's story, before John cleared his throat. For a second, Dean feared he was going to try and continue yesterday's talk, and in a way, he did.

"Look's like I was wrong," John said solemnly, as the brothers stared at him. "I had thought you being on your own, going from place to place without help was dangerous. I thought you'd be safer here at home, but I was wrong."

The realization of what he was saying dawned on Dean, and he protested.

"Dad, no," Dean started. "This wasn't your fault- those freaks would have found me anywhere-"

"Except they didn't find you anywhere, they found you _here_, with _us_," John interrupted angrily. "The cabin was supposed to be safe, but you were there for all of an hour before someone made you." There was a heavy pause before John continued. "I want you to be safe, Dean. I thought- I had _hoped_- here with us was best for you, but now I'm starting to think you were better off on your own."

Dean could only look at him for a moment. He couldn't deny what John was saying; it was true that it was both easier and safer for everyone with Dean keeping his distance. It wasn't that he wanted to leave- more than anything, he wished he could stay- but John was right, it wasn't safe, not for them and not for Dean. He had to keep moving, he had to go where he wouldn't see someone he loved and accidentally trigger a glow. He was sure that was what had caused the trouble- when Dean saw John at the cabin, he had slipped. The hunter must have been near by, and saw him.

Thankfully, Sam changed the subject to something he had seen on TV, and they talked and joked, and for a moment, they could pretend that this wasn't the last they'd see of each other for a while.

They stayed as long as it took for Dean's glow to fully extinguish. There were hugs and promises to call and check in with them, and John made Dean swear to save up his own damn money, he needed more than they did. With a wave from the Impala, Dean pulled out of the motel parking lot, and drove out of Kansas.

* * *

He couldn't believe his luck.

His car had gotten a flat, and caused him to have to trek down a small dirt road off the highway. As if he weren't already having a bad day, let's add the dangers of walking off alone in the middle of no where. Each step was uncomfortable, his dress shoes simply not made for this kind of terrain, but he had no choice; it was either walk to where he had some reception on his cell phone, or be a sitting duck.

He had made it about half a mile when he heard it- a sharp cry of pain off in the distance. Someone was injured, and without thinking, he ran straight into the think of the woods towards it. Stumbling and tripping on roots, he had barely managed to get a decent pace in the dark; he couldn't see the trees until they were right in front of him, only visible by the traces of moonlight from overhead. He could hardly tell what direction he was going in anymore; maybe he should call out to the injured person, see if they were near by and-

The collision had caught him off guard, as he passed a tree and crashed right into a very hard figure. Whatever it was was very tall and had been moving fast, and the impact had knocked him backwards.

With a grunt of pain, Castiel looked to see what had hit him. He heard himself gasp, and his eyes went wide as he took in the man sprawled out on the ground opposite him. Logically, he knew what he was looking at, but his brain just couldn't wrap around it- _a Luministia_, here in the woods, glowing brighter than the full moon above them, and looking like he had just popped out of a myth.

His eyes gazed reverently as he took in the Luministia's face- he, too, was staring with wide eyes, though where as Castiel's were filled will awe and wonder, his were filled with fear. Just then, Castiel could make out the sound of distant foot steps rushing this way, and the beautiful man jumped up and bolted past him.

"Wait!" he yelled at the retreating light. He knew it was hopeless, knew the Luministia would not stop, but he couldn't keep himself from calling out to him. Within seconds, the bright figure was gone, casting the area around him back into the dark of the night.

Thinking quickly, he came to his senses and hid himself behind a tree, listening for the footsteps that had scared off the Luministia. Less than a minute later, another man trundled up the path, following the direction of the fleeing man. With quick movements, Castiel grabbed him by the shoulder, and knocked him to the ground, ripping his gun from him, and knocking him unconscious with it.

It didn't take a lot of guess work to make out that he was a hunter. The worse kind humanity had to offer. A rage built inside of him as he looked down at the inert man; he wanted to kill him, but he knew he couldn't, knew he didn't have it in him to end the life of a (currently) defenseless man. Instead, he stripped him of his weapons, and left him there, returning to the dirt road in time to see a black truck speeding away in the distance.

Castiel continued down the dirt road for another mile, until his phone beeped with a signal, and he called a tow truck.

As his car was repaired, all he could think about was the bright and beautiful creature from the woods. He hadn't seen a Luministia in years. Something dark twisted in his stomach at the idea that someone else had almost claimed him. No, it couldn't be like that- Castiel wouldn't let it. He was going to find that Luministia himself. He was going to take him back with him.

He smiled at the thought of it as he paid the repair man, and got into his car. When he pulled onto the highway, following the direction of the black truck, he thought about the odds.

He couldn't believe his luck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter warnings**: masturbation, kidnap, use of a taser, mentions of implied kidnap and gang-rape, mentions of cannon minor character death, attempted rape/non-con (not between our babies)  
There is a graphic attempted rape scene in his chapter, so heads up on that if it's your trigger. I really just wanna get the angst out of the way so we can get closer to Dean and Castiel having consensual and fun smut, you feel me? Also, there is some Dean giving himself affection in here, so yay!  
**Author's Note**: Thank you all so much for all of your encouragement! This was really just supposed to be some short adorable fluff with some glow-in-the-dark smut, but the whole thing just kind of got away from me. Anyway, I hope you all like it, and bear with me while I try and figure out this plot thing.

**UPDATE**: So my awesome brain decided that it would rather stay up all night thinking about how it wanted this story to go instead of letting me sleep, and at 4am, it gave me a really awesome idea. I had to go back and edit one sentence in chapter two several hours after publishing it so that storyline could happen. To everyone who read it before then, you are going to read something in the future, and go, "Wait, that can't happen- _this_ happened in chapter 2..." To those people, I am so sorry. I would say what that sentence was, but it's too much foreshadowing, and I want it to be as big a surprise as possible to some people. BUT I AM SO SORRY. Carry on.

* * *

Despite all of the things that had happened, how different everything now was between the Winchesters, things went back to how they were within a month of Dean's departure. John stayed home and went to work, Sam returned to Stanford, and Dean continued his travels, picking up odd jobs along the way, and never staying in one spot for too long.

There were some differences, though. Once a week, every week, he placed a call to Sam and his father. He had to change out his phone every now and then, but if it meant contact with his family, Dean was more than willing to do it. Sure, last month had held a bad argument and a terrifying moment, but it had all worked out in the end, and the Winchesters were all the better for it.

He pulled into another motel on his last night in Iowa, where he had been a part time janitor at some independent pet store, and he was glad to be heading out, though the cash was pretty sweet. The warm shower did him a lot of good, and though he was tired from all of the driving, he was finding it hard to fall asleep.

There were a good handful of things that could help him when sleep avoided him; alcohol, late night TV, some combination of the two- but they weren't what he had in mind this time.

Dean was a healthy grown man with a healthy libido. He had urges and needs, even more than the average 24-year-old because of his virginity. Having to constantly suppress and deny himself physical pleasure every time there was an interest or an offer made him feel pent-up, and there was really only one way for him to safely unwind.

He had a whole system of safety measures. It was always better to take precaution, especially for him, and how much would it suck to get discovered for what he was while touching himself? So as to avoid such a fate, he went about with his pre-masturbatory routine; he double checked the curtains for any holes or gaps, and turned on all of the lights; he folded the comforter and placed it on the floor beside the bed before stripping completely and laying down in it, grabbing the other blanket from the mattress and throwing it over himself like a sleeping bag.

Setting himself on the floor behind the bed blocked him from view of the window, where as the lights ensured that he wouldn't stand out in the dark. But the blanket covering him- it had started out as a safety measure, but really, it was for his own enjoyment.

Deep arousal always made his skin thrum with light. Even now, with just the anticipation of what he was about to do make his skin itch with the urge to glow. Once he was completely concealed, he stopped holding back, and reveled in the pleasant sensation that was a Luministia's most notable feature. He looked down at himself and watched with wonder as his body lit up the darkness under the blanket.

He didn't know if it was some instinct that was instilled in all Luministia, or if it was just some weird kink of his, but Dean loved to watch himself glow in the dark, loved to see things covered in his light, especially when he did this. He took a few more moments to bask in his radiance, to enjoy the arousal singing in his veins and crawling on his skin before turning his full attention to his cock.

Dean's erection lay flat and heavy against his stomach, and he ghosted his fingertips over it, making him gasp lightly. Having no personal knowledge or experience, he could only guess, but he speculated that he was a bit more sensitive than most people at his age. With a few more feather light strokes, he teased himself until he couldn't stand it, and he reached down past his cock to between his legs to where he could already feel himself leaking.

Ever since puberty, whenever he got sexually excited, he produced some kind of slick from his entrance. It had surprised him when he found out not everyone did this- yet another thing he now knew that he could thank the internet for. Apparently, it was a trait reserved only for women and Luministia men, but it didn't bother him. Actually, he loved the feel of it, warm and slippery between his fingers, but the real pleasure came from using it on himself.

Biting his lip to keep back a moan, he placed his slick-drenched palm against his erection and gripped himself. At the first touch of the slick to his heated and bright cock, he felt an erotic tingling sensation, not unlike the kind he felt on his skin when he glowed, but far more pleasurable. Slowly, he started to move his fist up and down his length, gasping as the feeling of it grew with each movement.

While he worked himself over, his other hand took to teasing at his nipples, switching between light caresses and sharp pinches. Within moments, he was writhing on his make-shift bed, moaning from the pleasure his hands were bringing out of him.

The hand stroking him started to pump faster, twisting when it got to the tip, and Dean watched the head of his cock vanish and reappear in his wet fist. When he felt himself start to thrust up into his hand, he knew he was getting too close, and he reluctantly loosened his grip and slowed down; he wanted to draw this out, always finding the end result to be far more amazing when he built himself up longer.

He abandoned the assault on his nipples to reach down and grip himself at the base of his cock, pointing it up towards himself as the fingers on his other hand teased at the head. With his thumb, he gently worked into the slit at the tip, circling and pressing until he couldn't keep his sounds back anymore. His eyes went half-lidded as he groaned through his open mouth, and when he felt a rush of fresh slick drip from him, he reach down to catch some of it with his fingers.

There was a small smirk on his face at the anticipation before he pressed his slick-covered thumb back against the head of his cock, his other finger lightly massaging the sensitive underside as the sensation from his slick shot through him. He was moaning freely now, chest rising and falling rapidly as he panted, his skin brighter than it had been in what felt like forever. God, he loved the way this felt- there were few things he had ever experienced that felt as good as a natural glow, especially one this bright.

He looked down at himself, seeing the way his light reflected off of the blanket, the way his hands brought him so close to the edge, and he just _felt_. There were so few moments he had like this, where he could lay back and just enjoy himself.

Suddenly, his breath hitched, he felt his chest tighten, and he couldn't hold back anymore. Taking himself fully in his slicked fist again, he began to work himself fast and hard, his hips unable to keep from rocking up into it. He squirmed and he moaned and then finally, he threw his head back and his body spasmed as he came hard over his stomach.

And there was his reward.

It took him a moment to come back down from the high of his orgasm, but when he did, Dean smiled and took in the aftermath- no matter how many times he saw it, the sight of his come always amazed him. Just like his skin, it had a glow to it, the color opalescent and shimmery. He ran a finger over his abdomen, swiping some of it up and bringing it to his face. There were different colors in it when he moved his finger and it caught his glow, and after a little more admiration of the way it looked, he decided to appreciate it's taste.

Internet research had described the taste of semen as bitter and salty, and was said to be unpleasant. If that were true, then it must be another difference between the average male and a Luministia. Dean swirled his tongue around his finger, licking up every drop it held; it was hard to describe the taste of it as other than sweet. Once his finger was clean, he quickly reached down to get the rest of it before it had a chance to dry.

Why there was such information on the Luministia page on Wikipedia, Dean had no idea, but from it he learned that a Luministia's come was very good for the skin. It could even be used to treat rashes or infection, and it was rumored that women used to pay Luministia men to give them facials, because it reduced wrinkles and made them look younger. Dean had laughed so hard at that, his beer shot through his nose. But it did make him think- if only Luministia were allowed to live in peace, they could help so many people. Hell, Dean would gladly jerk off in a plastic cup if it meant someone didn't have to live with a life-long skin condition.

But he didn't want to dwell on things like that now. No, right now, he wanted to bask in his literal afterglow, as he cleaned his bright, shining stomach of his pretty, sparkly come.

* * *

He had been in good spirits when he went to the local bar a few days later. Passing through a small town in South Dakota, he thought he would treat himself to some socialization and drinks. It was your typical Saturday night bar scene, people crowding at the bar and around pool tables. He couldn't place his call to Sam until the nerd got back from the library, so he had some time to kill. He walked up to a table that had just ended a game, and after an hour, he had hustled more than two hundred dollars.

So it was turning out to be a good night.

Not wanting to push his luck or cause a drunken fight, he walked to the bar and ordered a beer. Tomorrow he would be heading to another town. Or maybe he would stick around here for a while- he had seen a help wanted sign in front of the local auto repair, and he knew a thing or two about being a mechanic; it would be good money doing something he enjoyed. Either way, the month wasn't as terrible as he thought it would be. Things were looking up. Everything was coming up Dean.

In his good mood, he hadn't noticed the man who joined him at the bar until he glanced at him.

"Please don't run," the man said, just as he had been about to sprint off towards the door.

Dean didn't know what kept him in place, kept him from knocking the tan coat-wearing stalker to the ground, and dashing to the safety of his Impala. Maybe it was the honest look in his desperate blue eyes, maybe it was the fear that this man knew what he was and could blow the whistle on him should he take off, turning one threat into a dozen. Either way, Dean stayed on his stool, keeping the stranger in his line of sight as adrenaline coursed through his veins.

"What do you want?" Dean said, surprised that he was able to keep his voice even.

"I just want to talk," the man said. He gave a small glance to the couple standing on the other side of Dean, who were too busy making it to second base to be eavesdropping on them, but he continued in a whisper. "I know what you are."

Dean gripped his beer bottle harder.

"Do you, now," he said with a forced smirk. "And what does that have to do with you?"

"It's not safe here," the man continued, ignoring Dean's question. "The hunter from the woods has been tracking you as well, and he's close. Please, you have to come with me."

It took actual effort not to laugh out loud at the man suggestion. How stupid did he think Dean was? He wasn't some gullible kid who would run into a man's van if he was promised candy.

"I know you don't believe me-"

"Good, then you can fuck off," Dean said.

"Please," he begged. "Please, he's on his way, you can't stay here-"

"I don't plan to," Dean growled at him. He placed a large bill on the counter for the bartender, and started to stand when the stranger's hand gripped his shoulder.

"Wait-"

He reacted instinctively, elbowing behind him hard in the direction of the man's face, and breaking his hold so he could take off out of the bar. He headed straight for the lot behind the building where he had parked his beloved car. There was no question, now- he couldn't stay here. Now that he knew he was being tailed by someone- possibly two someones- this town was no longer a potential, albeit temporary, home.

It was a shame, he might have liked it here.

The car keys slid into the lock to open the door, but before he could twist them, a heavy hand suddenly grabbed him from behind, covering his mouth with a cloth. In his shock, Dean had unwittingly gasped, breathing in the thin fumes coming from the rag. Everything went black as Dean passed out.

* * *

Tracking the Luministia had not been an easy task, but Castiel had kept at it vigilantly, fueled by the idea that there was someone else out there who might also be chasing him. He couldn't give up and leave him to the mercy of a hunter.

He knew better than to get too close- he didn't want to scare him off. He had to wait for the right moment to approach him, had to plan what he would say to convince the man to come with him.

So far, he was coming up short.

The Luministia, it turned out, was rather smart. He was always on the move, and covered his tracks well. There were a few times when he had vanished from Castiel's sight, and he had only managed to relocate him with of a combination of luck, instinct, and license plate tracking.

It was back in Iowa, when the Luministia was hiding out in yet another cheap motel, with Castiel watching from the parking lot, that he saw him.

Even though he hadn't gotten a good look at him in the dark that night, there was no mistaking the hunter from the woods. On alert now and wary, Castiel watched the man approach the Luministia's car, and held his breath when he walked up to the motel door.

Then the hunter left. Just like that.

The next day, Castiel followed the Impala and it's driver North, stopping at another motel in South Dakota. He watched carefully from a distance, and sure enough, and hour later, the hunter reappeared. Castiel was out of time. It was now or never.

It had been a long shot, but he had to try talking to him. The gesture of warning and the offer for help had earned him a sharp blow to the jaw. Cursing, he watched as the Luministia ran from the bar, and with a scowl and a quick adjustment to his coat, he followed.

Castiel ran out to the parking lot, but did not see the man right away. Scanning the area carefully for where he might have disappeared to, he heard a gasp and a brief struggle from somewhere behind him. Following the sound around the corner behind the bar, he watched as his quarry was subdued by the hunter he had tried to warn him about. With his arm pulled around the man's shoulder, the Luministia looked like he might be just another one who had had too much to drink as he was dragged to an unmarked white van.

There was a sick feeling in his stomach as he watched the scene unfold. His options were few and far between; he could run after him, try and fight him off, but there was no doubt that he would be armed, where as Castiel was not; he could call out that the man was being kidnapped, but the hunter might reveal the Luministia's true identity to the crowd; the safest bet he had was to follow them, without tipping off the driver, and hope that he got there in time.

* * *

Dean was in that dazed state of not-awake-but-not-quite-asleep. His head was throbbing, and something kept moving him. He wanted it to go away, he wanted to fall asleep, he wanted to keep his shirt on.

Green eyes snapped open as Dean's last memories came back to him- the blue-eyed man, the chloroform, the kidnapping- and he looked around. Or, at least, he tried to.

He was lying face down on a large bed shirtless, with his hands bound together and fastened to a thick and sturdy slat in the headboard. The effect of the knock-out drug was fading, but was still making him dizzy and lightheaded. Panic coursed through him and he shifted up onto his elbows on the bed to try and undo the bindings with his teeth. The rope was an inch away from his mouth when something gripped his ankle and yanked him back down the bed.

Turning his head, he watched as a man came into view- except it wasn't the one he had been expecting. The hunter from the lake climbed onto the bed, and Dean flinched away from him.

"Don't fucking touch me," Dean growled at him. The hunter only chuckled condescendingly at him before straddling the back of Dean's thighs. His strength was starting to come back to him, and he lashed out by kicking his heels up hard into the man's back. There was a satisfying grunt of pain as his foot connected with his attacker, who quickly moved and flipped Dean onto his back before he could kick out again.

"Hey, now," the man chided. "None of that." The hunter resumed his position on his thighs, and Dean watched with contempt as he fished into his pocket and pulled out two capped syringes. His eyes widened at the sight of them, and hard as he could, he struggled fruitlessly against his bonds.

"Easy, now," his captor shushed him. "This is just something to help you relax." Placing one of the needles on the nightstand beside the bed, the hunter uncapped the other and aimed in at Dean's upper arm. There was a sharp, cold sensation as the needle penetrated his skin, and the fluid shot into him. The effect of it was instant, and he felt himself involuntarily go lax.

When he felt it safe to do so, the man rolled Dean back over onto his stomach without him being able to resist.

"There, that's better."

The weight of his captor returned to his legs, and Dean tried to move his- something, _anything_, but his body continued to lay dormant and defenseless. He cringed when he felt rough hands flatten over his shoulder blades before running up and down his back.

"I know you're scared," he told Dean, sounding as if he were trying to comfort and soothe him while he continued molesting Dean's back. "But I'm not like the other hunters out there, I won't kill you. I don't wanna hurt you any more than I have to, any more than is necessary. Okay?"

This guy wasn't just evil, he was fucking crazy, Dean thought bitterly. He felt the bed shift as the man moved back and wrapped his fingers under the waistband of his jeans before pulling them down and off along with his boxers, leaving him fully exposed. When he resettled, he reached over him for the other syringe, and Dean whimpered, knowing what it must be.

The hunter only shushed him again before pinching a thick part of his thigh, and sticking the needle into the bunched skin. This one hurt a lot more than the muscle relaxant, and he hissed from the pain of it as the man rubbed firm circles over the injection site.

It took less than a minute for the effect of the drug to kick in, even with Dean doing everything he could to suppress it. The pins-and-needles sensation erupted all over his body, feeling artificial and stale compared to how it usually did, as his skin hummed with bright, silvery light.

"_So beautiful_," the man whispered, his voice thick with awe and amazement and his fingers traced over every inch of Dean he could reach. Dean felt like he was gonna throw up, his nausea growing with each touch.

The small click of a bottle opening caught his attention then, and he strained his ears to pick up on what might be coming next for him. When a hand placed a bottle of lube on the nightstand next to the used syringes, fresh fear ripped through him.

"_Please_," he begged, and he realized he was crying then. "_Please_ don't do this. You don't have to do this."

"Don't worry, Angel," the man crooned at him. "I'm gonna make this good for you, don't worry."

He choked out a sob when he felt the first finger slide in, wet and cold against his warm and radiant skin. It didn't hurt so much as it made him feel sick when the hunter pumped it in and out of his paralyzed body. As he wasn't aroused, he wouldn't be able to produce his own slick, and the lube being used on him felt so different from his own natural lubricant- everything about this felt so unnatural, and he hated it. The movements were slow, the cruel man being gentle with him for the time being, and soon, another finger was pushed into him, working him open for the horrific act that was to come.

Tears streamed freely down Dean's face and his body shook around stuttered breaths. Dean had never been the romantic type, never believed his first time would be with someone who swept him off his feet, someone who would understand what he was and would want _him_, not his powers, not just any Luministia.

He never imagined much about his first time, never really believed he would even have one, but when he did, it was gentle and perfect and with a lover. Not a rapist. He would rather die a 150-year-old virgin than experience what was happening to him.

The insertion of the third finger forced him out of his thoughts, the stretch of his rim painful now. After a few more movements, the hand was removed, and the body left the bed, and for the smallest moment, he thought it might be over. He didn't have long to hope, however, before he heard the ruffling of clothing being removed.

"I can't wait anymore," the man said breathlessly. "I have to have you _now_."

Dean trembled as the man climbed back onto the bed and settled between his knees, spreading his legs farther apart. Rough hands gripped his ass cheeks hard and pulled them open. This was it. Dean shut his eyes tight and buried his face into the pillow, gritting his teeth as he tried to block out everything around him. He tried to concentrate on a happy thought for distraction, a memory that he could focus on until the moment was over, but nothing was coming to him. Memories of his mother were tainted by guilt, while thoughts of Sam and his father made Dean feel bitter for making him ever go to the cabin in the first place.

There was nothing. It was like being empty, not having a single happy moment that he could recall on when he so desperately need one.

He held his breath and grit his teeth as he felt the head of the man's cock nudge his slick and stretched hole. Every inch of his body froze in anticipation for the inevitable penetration.

The pressure against his entrance grew as his rapist leaned forward, and then, with a loud grunt, he suddenly spasmed as a sharp, crackling noise rent the air. The hunter fell on his face beside Dean before he rolled off of the bed.

Confusion over took his gripping fear as he looked over his shoulder at where the hunter disappeared. Sudden movement from behind him caught his eye and he struggled to turn towards it before he froze again.

His glow reflected off of the blue-eyed man's body, standing beside the bed as he looked down at Dean's helpless form, and it was all Dean could do to stare up at him with wide, pleading eyes. He knew better by now than to let himself hope, knew better than to entertain the thought that his attack was over, that this other man might want to save him, and not want to commit the horrific act himself. He knew better than that, but still...

They stayed like that for a fleeting moment, each just staring at the other, before the stranger seemed to come to his senses.

"I'm sorry," he said as he stepped closer to Dean. "But I have to do this."

Dean watched as he reached towards him with a small black device, and terror shot through him as with a whimper, he tried to squirm away from the taser. Electricity jolted through him, making him he spasm until everything went black and he welcomed unconsciousness.

* * *

Dean did not want to move. The whole world was soft and warm and safe. He felt too heavy and too light at the same time, like he could float away if only someone would untether him. Sleep still tugged defiantly at his brain, despite the feeling that he had been unconscious for a long time. He sighed softly, and shifted where he laid.

Without opening his eyes, he could tell he was glowing faintly, his skin warm and humming pleasantly with light, and something at the back of his mind was insisting he stop it immediately, but he felt so warm, and he was so tired, and this bed was so soft-

With a small sound, he forced his eyes to open and focus- because Dean was in a bed. A big, soft, not-in-a-motel, bed. But what...?

Suddenly, the last twenty-four hours came back to him in a whirlwind of panic and fear, and he sat bolt-upright. The fast movement cause his vision to go temporarily hazy with the sudden blood rush, and he pressed his hand to his forehead with a groan, going still for a moment until his sight came back to him. With a few blinks, the room came into focus and he glanced around.

With a start, he realized he wasn't alone. The blue-eyed stranger sat in a chair next to the bed, watching him warily a few feet away. His brain screamed at his body to jump into action, to search for a weapon, to get up and run the hell away, but he couldn't move for fear. It was made even worse by the fact that he was still glowing, not as brightly as before- and it had dimmed considerably since he had woken up- but there was still a faint shimmer to his skin just enough to be noticeable.

He watched with trepidation as the blue-eyed man started to lean towards him.

"Stay the hell away from me," Dean whispered, trying to sound as threatening as he could while folding in on himself to make him look as small as possible.

The blue-eyed man sighed, and Dean thought he sounded tired.

"I'm so sorry for what happened to you," he said, keeping sad and honest eyes on Dean, who just watched him with a frown. "I had tried to protect you from that- from _him_. I was so worried that I had gotten there too late." The man gave him a small barely-there smile. "But that's over- you're safe now."

"_Safe_?" Dean snapped? "I'm supposed to be _safe_ here? With the freak whose been stalking me for the past month, the guy who used a fucking stun-gun on me?"

Blues eyes darted to Dean's side, and he looked down. It was only then that he realized he was wearing clothes- not his own, these were loose and comfortable like pajamas, and when he shifted he could feel a bandage covering where there was surely a burn mark.

"That," the man said ruefully, not meeting Dean's resentful gaze. "Was unfortunate."

There was a small pause at that.

"'Unfortunate.'" Dean repeated with a deadpanned voice. "Really, that's what you're going with?"

"I had no choice-"

"Oh," Dean put his hands up in mock surrender, his voice radiating anger and barely disguised fear. "Well then that just makes it okay, doesn't it?"

There was another still moment as the blue-eyed man looked at him in consideration, assessing him, before he suddenly stood up. Dean sputtered and flinched at the movement, but instead of lunging towards him, or moving to strike Dean, he simply walked towards the door.

"Where are you...?" Dean started, but he lost his nerve and the sentence tapered out.

"It is clear to me that I will not be able to speak with you while you are like this," he said matter-of-factly. "You have just been through a great personal trauma, both emotionally and physically. I believe you will benefit from a second alone with your thoughts."

His hand started to twist the door nob, but he turned to face Dean before opening the door.

"I want you to know that you are not a prisoner here," he said. "You are free to leave at any moment should you choose to do so. I am confident that this is the safest place that you could be, but if you do not wish to stay, I will not make you. All I ask is that, before you leave, you come and speak with me. When you are ready, I will be downstairs with breakfast."

With that, the blue-eyed man turned and left the room, leaving Dean with his mouth hanging open as he closed the door.

* * *

It had been such a long night. What Castiel really wanted to do as he walked into the kitchen and scrambled some eggs, was go back upstairs to his master bedroom, and go to sleep. But while his body ached with exhaustion, his mind was alert and ecstatic. He had done it- after a long month of (he cringed at the word) stalking, he had finally brought the Luministia here.

It wasn't in the way he had hoped for, but he didn't have the patience to be upset about that now. There were a lot of ways last night could have gone, and though the reality of what had transpired was far from favorable, he knew personally that it could have been so much worse. Now, the Luministia was upstairs in his guest bedroom, safe and alive, and that was something to be grateful for.

He had almost gotten there too late. The white van had taken a sharp corner, and Castiel couldn't catch up to it before getting stuck at a stop light. There were several minutes of panic where he had thought he had lost them, but he followed his instinct, and took a chance turn down a secluded dirt road that lead to a small house far from anywhere. When he saw the white van in front, he had been so relieved, but his night was far from over.

Turned out he had gotten there just in time. When he opened the bedroom door and saw what was being done, a rage shot through him, and he may or may not had stunned the hunter a lot longer than was absolutely necessary. And then again before leaving, _just in case_.

The look of fear and desperation the Luministia had fixed him with was one that would stay with him for a long time. He hated that he had had to stun him too, but he just didn't see anyway he was going to be able to convince the bright man to come with him, especially not when he was so frightened, and stuck in a glow. Castiel was so careful with him when he undid his bindings, wrapped him in his overcoat, and carried him to his SUV, the tinted windows in the back guarding him from view of potential threats.

From there, he treated him- the bruises, and the burn mark from his taser, wrapping each injury as gently and quickly as he could. Castiel had witnessed for himself that Luministia healed much faster than the average human, that he didn't really need to treat and bandage his wounds, but he couldn't leave him like that. After he was finished, he laid him in the back seat, fastened a seat belt around his waist, and got them both out of there- time was an issue, and he wanted to be as far away from here as possible before the hunter woke up.

There was a hope, a small one, that the hunter would assume Castiel had taken the Luministia and claimed him for himself before his glow dimmed, and thus would stop hunting him, but he was taking no chances. His house was far in the mountains of Colorado, secluded and protected, the perfect safe haven for a Luministia, though it hadn't been used as such in years. It was here that he brought the radiant, beautiful man, still unconscious from all of the physical exertion that night.

The sky was just starting to turn brighter with sunrise still a few hours away when he laid the Luministia down in his guest bedroom. Castiel knew that he would be terrified when he woke up, knew that he would fear the man who had saved him, and he couldn't blame him; after spending so many years on the run, living his whole life afraid of being assaulted, of course he would be reluctant to trust- to believe- that someone wanted to help. He didn't know how he was going to convince him that he only wanted to do just that, but he would worry about that later. For now, the Luministia was asleep and peaceful, safe and warm.

Castiel had decided to stay in the room and watch over him, not wanting him to wake up alone not knowing where he was. God, he was so beautiful, he couldn't help but stare at him. Even without his glow, when Castiel had watched him from afar, he had thought him attractive, but like this- he knew it wasn't genuine, that it was an artificial glow caused by some drug, but he was so _bright_, and the whole room was illuminated by his presence. It was a breathtaking sight.

Hours crept by, and sleep called to Castiel but he didn't leave. He had to wait. Sure enough, around ten in the morning, the Luministia stirred on the bed, and Castiel almost smiled at the sound of contentment he made before he awoke with a jolt.

As he had predicted, his rescue did not get the thank you it deserved, but he couldn't be upset. If anything, he was glad he wasn't attacked- Luministia were naturally strong by nature, and this one looked like he had some muscle on him. The drugs would have worn off by now, so it wasn't like he would have been too weak.

Castiel hated the way he looked at him, with resentment through swollen tear-stained eyes that had expected the worst from him. He could see his inner struggle, especially when the Luministia saw that he was still glowing, and he could only imagine how unsettling and unnatural it must have felt. There was so much the young man had to deal with, so much to think about.

So Castiel went downstairs and made eggs, giving him the offer, and leaving him to think about it. There was a tight ball in his chest that he identified as anxiety, and he hoped with all of his might that the Luministia would choose to stay. If he still did such things, he might have even prayed for it.

* * *

His mind was reeling. What had just happened? Did his kidnapper just offer him a safe haven? Was he supposed to be serious? There were so many conflicting thoughts in his head, he felt like it was going to explode.

Dean couldn't move. He stayed on the bed and tried to clear his head so he could think this through properly. Last night... that was surely a nightmare. But as he recalled, no permanent physical damage was done- he might be scarred mentally, but his virginity was still intact. And that stranger, the one who brought him here- he had been the one to stop it. He had rescued him.

Not that that meant anything if he was going to keep Dean here, and attack him later. But then a little voice of reason played devil's advocate- if the blue-eyed man was going to hurt him, why didn't he do it last night? Dean was unconscious, so it wasn't like he could have fought back, and he had already been forced into a glow... Even now, as Dean looked at his hands, he could still see a weak light. If he was going to be attacked, it would have already happened. Ergo, the blue-eyed man was not going to hurt him. He had even told Dean that he could leave if he wanted to.

But then why even bring him here? If the stranger wasn't interested in a Luministia's powers, why kidnap one and bring it to his house? Why follow one across states? Why risk his life saving one from a hunter?

Dean had questions, and he wanted answers. There was only one place he was going to get them, and it was sitting downstairs with breakfast.

He couldn't go down, though, not yet. Quietly as he could, he got up and tiptoed to the door, peaking out, and when he saw no one around, he inched over to the bathroom near by. Once inside, he closed and locked the door.

He almost didn't recognize himself when he looked into the mirror. He was paler than usual, his eyes slightly swollen from the crying, and everything about his expression showed how tired he felt. Turning on the tap, he splashed from water over his face, hoping it would make him feel more awake and alert.

If he was being honest, he didn't see the harm in talking to the guy, and he was pretty hungry. That's what he would do- eat and ask his questions, and once he got the answers he was looking for, he would leave. Years of distrusting strangers had caused him to develop certain habits, however; he was not naive, and he wouldn't simply take this guy at his word- just because he promised Dean's freedom, didn't mean he would be allowed to walk out of here with no conditions. Looking around the bathroom, he spotted a pair of scissors in a drawer, and he tucked them into his waistband; if Dean decided to leave, he was prepared to fight his way out. He was never going to experience a repeat of last night, he would make sure of that.

When his glow finally went out a few minutes later, he took a deep breath, and left the bathroom.

It was a pretty nice house. Even in his unease, Dean could appreciate the spaciousness and the easy decor. This was a place of comfort over looks, which he could respect, and though everything was clean, it had a very lived-in look. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he caught the smell of eggs and bacon, and he followed his nose through a few rooms until he found the breakfast sitting on a wooden dinning table.

The blue-eyed man could be heard moving around in the kitchen, until his footsteps grew louder and he appeared in the walkway between the rooms. He froze when he saw Dean, as if surprised to have seen him there so soon. Dean watched him with wariness- ready to take off at a moment's notice should he make any sudden moves- as the stranger set two mugs next to the plates. He seemed to sense Dean's unease, and he moved with slow and easy to predict motions.

"I hope you like coffee," he said clearly, as if kidnapping people and making them breakfast the next morning was perfectly normal for him. "But if you don't, I also have different teas, and orange juice and milk-"

"Um," Dean interrupted. "Coffee's fine."

The man nodded at him before taking a seat and offering a gesture for Dean to do the same. Apprehension in every movement, Dean pulled out a chair and took a seat behind a plateful of scrambled eggs. There were also five stripes of bacon, and a side plate of toast. At the sight of so much food, his stomach rumbled, and he was suddenly reminded that his last meal had been yesterday afternoon, and consisted of a cheap burger on-the-go.

There was an awkward pause while the blue-eyed man across the table stared at him, and for a moment, Dean thought he was about to ask him to say grace. Despite his hunger, he waited until his host took a bite himself before taking a forkful of egg. He had entertained the idea that his food and drink might have been tampered with, but he reasoned, as he took a large gulp of delicious black coffee, there would have really been no point in him knocking Dean out with poison if he had a perfectly effective taser on hand.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Questions upon questions lined themselves up in his head, each one wanting to be asked first, but he didn't know where to start. Luckily, the decision were made for him. With a sigh, the blue-eyed man sat up straight and looked at him.

"You must have many questions for me," he started. Dean just watched him, and waited for him to continue. "I will answer anything you ask."

Dean stood still for another moment, regarding and assessing him before he put his fork down.

"Alright," he said, and he started with the first thing that came to his mind. "I'm guessing you've been following me since I ran into you back in Kansas." The stranger stayed quiet, and Dean took that as confirmation. "Which means you've been stalking me for a month, and now you've kidnapped me. But you don't seem to be much interested in my, uh- _abilities_. So I guess... what do you want?"

The man stayed quiet for a moment, eyes eyes moving down in thought, before looking back at him as he answered.

"I want you to be safe," he said. "I know how dangerous and difficult it can be for Luministia out there, especially those who have been discovered, who are being hunted. I wanted to find you so that I could offer you a safe place to stay."

"And what, you couldn't just say that?"

"If you recall," the blue-eyed man responded with raised eyebrows. "I tried to, right before you were grabbed. You elbowed me in the face."

Oh, yeah.

"Well, how was I supposed to know you weren't another hunter?"

"There is no need to be defensive. I understand why you reacted the way you did, especially after what was happening to you when you first saw me."

Dean remembered it perfectly, that night at the lake; the tainted dart that had forced his glow, causing him to shine like a beacon in the darkness of the woods, the hunt that had made him run for his life until he nearly trampled the tan coat wearing stranger.

When the same man approached him at the bar, he had assumed the worst- another hunter, ready to take him, to claim him, to force him down and bend him over and grant himself 'worthy' of a Luministia's powers. But instead, here he was- making him breakfast. After saving him from a real hunter. And offering him a safe haven. And asking for nothing in return.

"Why?"

"I'm sorry?" the blue-eyed man furrowed his eyebrows at him in confusion.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, and even though his stomach was twisting with uncertainty, his voice was steady. "Why are you helping me? You can't be doing it for nothing- you have to want more than just my safety. That can't be it. No one does everything you've done just to be nice."

The blue-eyed man went quiet for a long moment at that, and this time he kept his eyes down when he spoke.

"My brother was a Luministia."

Dean did not miss that past-tense of that statement. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but empathy wasn't it, and he stayed silent as he waited for the man to continue.

"His name was Samandriel. We were close," the blue-eyed man looked up at him then. "Would you like to see a picture of him?"

At Dean's small nod, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet, retracting a small piece of paper from one of it's folds. He watched as the blue-eyed man smiled at it, and there was so much affection in that brief expression before he handed it over to Dean.

It was a small picture of two boys. The man sitting in front of him was easy to identify on the right, his mess of near black hair almost the exact same as it was now. He was smiling nervously in the old photo, as if camera shy.

The other boy in the picture was the exact opposite; he was grinning widely at the camera, mouth open in a permanent laugh, with his arm wrapped around the shoulders of his brother. Dean saw he had the same bright, blue eyes as the man in front of him, but it wasn't the most noticeable feature of the photo. It was the unmistakeable glow. The younger boy with the confident, laughing face was shining, bright and happy.

And suddenly, Dean understood.

"He was always so happy, even when he knew the risks, knew he had to live a sheltered life in case someone saw," he took the photograph back when Dean handed it to him. There was another pause as he stared at it, and Dean thought he saw something broken in his expression when he returned it back to his wallet. His voice was quiet but steady when he continued.

"I don't know what happened, not really. I knew there were hunters involved." Dean winced at the plural. "We were traveling, and they broke into our house in the middle of the night. I was knocked unconscious, and when I woke up... it was too late. He was gone." The man paused as he swallowed, and his voice grew angry, and bitter. "He was only fourteen."

A long silence followed as the blue-eyed man composed himself, and Dean stayed quiet out of respect. He imagined it had been a long time since the man had talked about this. Dean felt sick to his stomach at the story, and he tried not to think about what might have been done to the happy, glowing boy from the picture. When he had finished gathering himself, the blue-eyed man continued, looking Dean in the eyes.

"I'm not helping you just because I want to be nice," he said calmly. "I'm helping you because of my brother. I couldn't protect him, but maybe, if you'll let me, I can protect you, keep you safe. It's what he would have done, what he would have wanted me to do."

He didn't need anymore explanation, didn't need to ask for any proof. It was enough.

Dean believed him.

"Just one more question," Dean said.

"Of course, anything."

Dean gave him a small smile. "What's your name?"

The blue-eyed man returned his smile as he replied.

"My name is Castiel."

"Hey there, Cas," Dean said, offering his hand. "I'm Dean."

"Hello, Dean," Castiel replied, taking his hand in his own and shaking it.

They finished their breakfast quietly, and sure it was still a little awkward, and Dean had no idea how this was going to play out, or if was going to work. But for the first time in far too long- since a blonde haired, kind faced woman baked him pie and read him bedtime stories- he felt safe. He didn't have to run, and he wasn't being chased. If there was even the smallest possibility that he could have what he was being promised, it was worth a try, right?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Summary**: It's Dean's first day at Castiel's safe house. When he is left alone, he naturally starts to snoop through his host's things in hopes of learning more about Castiel. He ends up getting more information than he expected.  
**Chapter Warnings**: mentions of minor canon character death, story-telling, fluffy moments  
**Author's Notes**: FOR THOSE WHO READ CHAPTER TWO RIGHT AFTER IT WAS POSTED: Okay, so after I first posted chapter two, I stayed up thinking about where I wanted to go with this story. Then, in the middle of the night, I got an awesome idea, but I had to go back and edit one sentence in chapter two in order for it to be possible. If you read the story before I edited it, you will come to a point in a future chapter and be very confused as to how that was possible. For those people, I am so, so sorry. I would tell you what that sentence was, but it's too obvious foreshadowing. This edit happened about eight hours after the first post (around 4am EST). I'M REALLY SORRY for those of you who will be confused in a few chapters. I hope you'll still like the story, despite my poor editing.  
In better news, the next chapter will have some Dean/Castiel smut. Stay tuned!

* * *

Dean's first night at Castiel's safe house was predictably unexpected.

After breakfast, Castiel gave him a small tour, pointing out some of the house's features, and giving him some additional information; they were located in the mountains of Colorado, five miles from the closet road, and thirty miles from the closest town. Despite how cut off they were from people, they were still on the grid in terms of cable and internet, both of which were fully accessible.

There were back up generators, rations for emergency food, even a panic room in the basement, complete with an escape route that led out to the lake; this house was, in lamest terms, safe.

But it wasn't the safety measures or extra features to the house that Dean found unusual, it was the amount of freedom he was given within in. In each room he showed, Castiel was sure to inform him he was allowed to do whatever he pleased there. There were no boundaries, no limits; if there was anything he wanted to do, he didn't need to ask. Coupled with the over-night sense of safety, the added promise of being able to live in peace and do as he wished was liberating.

After the tour was over, Castiel asked to be excused; he had not slept in sometime, and Dean could tell it was starting to get to him. Once he was by himself, Dean plopped down on the large, comfortable couch, the house phone in hand. When Castiel rescued him, his clothes had gotten left behind, along with the cell phone in his pocket. It was no big loss, being a disposable.

No, his real concern was his baby, and he exhaled a none-too-small sigh of relief when Castiel told him he had had his car towed, and would be taking him to collect it tomorrow morning.

Checking the clock, he figured now was a good a time as any- it was Sunday, so he knew he wasn't in class. The phone rang twice before a tired, distressed voice answered the call.

"Dean?" Sam asked. "Dean, is that you?"

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me." He was a little surprised to hear his brother sound so worried, but he understood; every Saturday, after he was done studying in the library, Sam got a phone call from him- it was their deal if Dean was going to be off on his own. He had never missed their scheduled talks. Until yesterday.

Dean imagined his brother must have been up all night, wondering why he didn't hear from him, and as is often the case with worrying family members, the more hours that passed, the more conclusions they jumped to, each scenario in their head getting worse and worse until they were told otherwise that everything was okay.

"What the fuck, Dean?" Sam bit at him. "Where the hell have you been? Dad and I have been worried sick, we were calling all night."

"Calm down, I'm fine," Dean assured him. Under all of the anger and the promise of an ass-chewing if he didn't explain himself soon, Dean could hear the relief that was fueling it. His brother was worried, he knew he would be, but he couldn't help the little smile on his lips and the light prickling around his eyes that came from knowing he was so missed. "What are you doing? You sitting down? Good, cause I got a lot to tell you."

Without further delay, Dean explained everything, subtracting the 'you-don't-need-to-know-that' details: the hunter from the woods tracked him down and kidnapped him; he was rescued by a third party, a man who wanted to keep him safe; he was now staying in that man's house, and would, for the foreseeable future, be living there for a few days.

"And, yeah," he finished. "That's about it." Really, he had thought the explanation would have lasted longer, but it only took a few minutes to get everything out. "Cas is, well, he's not what I thought. I'm not saying I trust him, but I don't know, dude seems alright. And he wants to help, so... yeah, that's it."

Sam was silent on the other end long enough that Dean thought they had been disconnected.

"'_Yeah, that's it_?' Seriously, that's how you're ending all of that? 'Yeah, that's it?' Dean, you were almost rap-"

"Jeez, Sam, you don't have to say it." Dean interrupted with an indecent sound. "Look, I know, okay? It was close- way too close for comfort, but I'm alright now. So fret not little Sammy, my virtue is still intact."

He chuckled at Sam's 'you-did-not-just-say-that' groan, though laughing was the last thing he felt like doing when he thought about last night. There was a sudden need to change the subject, and he was glad when Sam provided him with a question that allowed him to do just that.

"So this... you said his name was 'Castiel?'" Sam asked. "What's he like? Why does he want you there? Did he say that he wanted anything?"

"No," Dean assured him. "I asked him about that, it's more of a personal thing than any self-interest." He paused for a second, debating whether or not to tell Sam about Samandriel, before he decided no- Castiel's reasons were his own, and Dean shouldn't share them with his brother. "Trust me, Sam, no one is more suspicious of the people who want to be around me more than me. I vetted him, he checks out. First sign of anything shady, I'm gone."

There most have been something in his tone, because Sam let the subject drop. Afterwards, there was the matter of who would tell John, before they both decided Sam would be better at explaining it to him than Dean. Then it was just like their normal talks; Dean told him he was in Colorado, but he didn't really know where, and Sam talked about school.

Overall, it wasn't a bad conversation. He had been expecting more arguing.

By the time Sam said he was meeting some people and had to go, it was almost two in the afternoon. Castiel would probably be sleeping now, and it wasn't like Dean had anywhere to be. It was so weird, not having something he needed to do; whether it was some small job, or working on his car, or staying on the move, he was always doing something- now, all he had was free time, and he didn't know what to do with himself.

For a moment, he considered going back upstairs and taking a nap himself, but he had slept for so long last night and this morning that he wasn't tired now. And besides, he now had almost the whole house to himself. Nothing wrong with a little investigating; if he was going to be staying with a stranger, it might be beneficial to learn more about him. No place better to look than the guy's house.

Getting up from the couch, he decided to have another look around, a self-guided tour without a supervisor. It wasn't snooping if Castiel said he could do whatever he felt like, right? Well, now he felt like going through the guy's stuff. If there was something here that was off-limits, Castiel should have said so.

It was a nice house- Dean had to give him that- but it was lacking a personal touch. There was nothing sentimental to be found in any of the rooms, no pictures on the walls or on end tables, no birthday cards on display, nothing. The only thing that didn't look like it was an exact replica of Better Homes and Gardens was the sticky notes on the refrigerator. Dean smirked when he read one that said, '_Impala, 10am._'

The tables were bare, bookshelves were boring, drawers were empty or filled with random cable cords; there was nothing worth looking at here.

With that thought in mind, Dean went to the stairs; obviously, Castiel's room was off limits. Not because it was a place of privacy, but because that's where he was sleeping. But as his search of the downstairs area had yielded no satisfying results, he turned his attention upwards. There was no way a man could live all alone for years and not have some personal things hidden away somewhere that would tell Dean more about his character.

When he got to the landing at the top of the staircase, he passed by the room he was staying in and continued down the hall. There were only a few doors up here; one of them lead to a sun room that served as an office reading room. Dean went there first, creeping quietly passed the shut door where his host was sleeping.

The sun room was, unsurprisingly, bright, with an entire wall and most of the ceiling being window. The wall on the left was nothing but bookshelf from top to bottom, complete with a sliding ladder that reminded Dean of the library from Beauty and the Beast.

Dean scanned the numerous shelves, even taking a few books out to leaf through; they were all worn and well read, and most of them were fiction novels. Names like H.P. Lovecraft, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Kurt Vonnegut stood out to him. Well, that was something- Castiel was a fan of Harry Potter, among other things. Dean would have taken him for more of a non-fiction sort of guy.

He had learned something- looked like he was making progress.

There was also a desk and computer in the room, and after setting The Hitchhiker's Guide back on the book shelf, he turned to it. There weren't a lot of papers on the desk, just some more sticky notes with vague reminders from months back, and when the computer came on, he found it was password protected. After a few failed attempts at guessing the password, he was unable to get onto the computer, and he got up.

Careful to leave the room exactly as he found it, he quietly closed the door behind him on his way out.

The only doors left were a bathroom, a linen closet, and what Castiel had told him was another bedroom.

He let out a defeated sigh. Maybe Castiel really didn't have anything laying about that would tell Dean more about the man who had rescued him, and he should just wait and get to know the guy the old fashioned way- spending time with him and talking. Without much expectation, Dean opened the door to the extra bedroom.

Sunlight streamed into the room through heavy, tied back curtains, bright enough that he didn't need to turn on the light. The common theme seemed to be 'Things Teenage Boys Like;' there was a Star Wars poster on the wall, action figures on top of the book shelf, comic books on the actual shelves. It was the only room that looked like it had any sentimentality in it. Nothing in here seemed like it would belong to Castiel, though.

Then it dawned on him, the initial thought hitting fast, and the meaning slowly sinking in.

Oh. This must have been Samandriel's room.

There was a small conflicting feeling in Dean's stomach; going through Castiel's stuff when he pretty much had permission to was one thing- poking around the abandoned room of his dead little brother was another matter altogether. Would it be considered disrespectful? Would it make the guy angry? Castiel seemed like a nice enough guy- Dean wouldn't have stuck around this long if he didn't- but he didn't want to risk making the dude mad at him. He was, after all, giving Dean more than he ever had to. It would be a pretty shitty way to pay him back by breaking his trust.

Although, the other side of his mind thought, it's not like he ever asked for Castiel to trust him- he was grateful to him, there would be no point in denying that, but that didn't mean the guy should just trust him automatically. He didn't know anything about Dean- for all the good Samaritan knew, he could be robbing him blind while he slept.

And it wasn't like Castiel had told him not to go in here. Didn't he specifically say Dean could do whatever he pleased before he left him alone? What if Dean _pleased_ to poke around in this bedroom? If he had the vague permission to do so, surely Castiel couldn't be angry with him for doing it, right?

He was nitpicking, he knew; none of these reasons were valid excuses, and he doubted that argument would hold up if the man changed his mind and wanted to kick him out. But even if it did, it's not like Dean was planning on staying long-term anyway, just enough to get his bearings straight and go back to being under the radar.

Few days, tops.

Eventually, his curiosity beat out his moral reluctance, and he walked into the room.

The first drawer he opened in the nightstand reveled a few more comic books and some math homework- looked like Samandriel was home-schooled, too. Picking up the sheet of paper, Dean read over it; the corrections over the problems in pen looked like they were done by someone older. In his mind's eye, he saw a parent, but the more he read over them, the more he thought the corrections were more likely done by Castiel.

The dresser drawers held nothing but clothes, so he moved on to the desk. A large shelf over the old-looking computer had a few text books and folders. Dean slid one of the folders down, a green one with the word 'Europe' written over the front in large letters. When he opened it, he found pictures of popular cities; London, Paris, Rome, and many others. There were several maps of European countries, each one marked with sharpies of different colors. Places were circled, and lines were drawn connecting them, with words scribbled next to it depicting tourist attractions in that area.

The next folders Dean took down were similar, with one for South America, and Asia. The purple folder labeled America had the most writing in it, and the map had a few x's crossed over some cities.

So Samandriel had wanted to travel the world. The thought made Dean smile before something stirred in his memory.

"_We were traveling, and they broke into our house_."

Was Castiel helping his little brother accomplish his goals when the boy was kidnapped? If Samandriel was taken under Castiel's watch, after he took him out of the safety of their home... did Castiel blame himself?

Perhaps the more accurate question would be 'how much did Castiel blame himself?'

Dean's eyebrows furrowed at the thought, and he put the folders back where he found them.

Getting up from the desk, he turned towards the closet. There were some old t-shirts hanging up, and some worn shoes on the floor under them, but Dean's attention was drawn to the shelf at the top. The one with the boxes. Most were small, a few shoe boxes, and a slightly larger one.

Jackpot.

Carefully, Dean took them down one by one and placed them on the bed.

He sat in the middle of the mattress and pulled the first box towards him. Inside were pictures, mostly of places and without any people in them. Dean recognized the Golden Gate Bridge, Mount Rushmore, the Grand Canyon, even the world's largest ball of twine.

The only photographs that had people in them were some candid shots of a younger Castiel, and ones with the two brothers together in front of a landmark, likely taken by other tourists. Dean had to acknowledge Samandriel's control; in each picture, he was smiling wide, and laughing happily, but in none of the pictures was he glowing.

There wasn't a single picture of siblings or parents.

He paused each time he saw a picture of Castiel. There were ones of him sitting on a hotel bed reading or watching TV, ones of him driving, eating, looking around wherever they were visiting. He looked so young and- in the pictures where he didn't know he was the subject- happy. It made Dean chuckle a little bit to think Castiel was camera shy, but in all of the pictures where he was looking at the camera showed him looking awkward or nervous.

Each image had a description on the back, along with a date, and Dean read each one; most of these photographs were taken ten years ago.

Three of the shoe boxes were like this, just bundles and bundles of photographs, and Dean went through each one, reading the descriptions on the back, and admiring the scenes they presented. Dean was able to put small pieces of Castiel's life together this way; Samandriel was obviously the photographer, save for the pictures taken of the brothers together from far away.

Samandriel put all of this together, and Castiel allowed it to happen. His little brother wanted to travel the world, and after being home-schooled and stuck indoors all of his life himself, Dean could relate and understand the desire.

After seeing the house the first time, it was not big leap to picture Castiel coming from a lot of money. And with there being no pictures of other family members, Dean assumed it was just the two of them. Having a little brother himself, he could understand the weak spot Castiel undoubtedly had for Samandriel. If he presented his folders to his big brother, and told him about his dreams of seeing the world, how could he have told him no? If it were financially possible, shouldn't the idea be considered?

The last shoe box did not contain more pictures, as Dean had predicted. Instead, it was filled with letters in old envelopes, all handwritten, each one bearing the same name, 'Anna Milton.' Tentatively, Dean opened the first letter and read it. It was written by Samandriel, talking about his and Castiels' travels- all the places they had been, and all the things they had seen. Each one was signed, '_Your brother, Samandriel._'

A few of the letters had attached photographs. One of them showed the brothers standing in front of the Washington Monument, and on the back it read '_C. Novak: 19-yrs S. Novak: 12-yrs We saw the Smithsonian, it was pretty amazing! Wish you could have been there.'_

None of the letters in the box were replies.

So Castiel had a sister out there somewhere, possibly more siblings; Samandriel's letters had asked questions about a few different people, asking how they were doing, if they were okay.

A picture was starting to form in Dean's head; one of a teenaged Castiel taking care of his little brother alone- his little brother who was a Luministia that grew up sheltered, and dreamed of the world outside his bedroom; one of Castiel doing everything he could to make Samandriel happy, while still keeping him safe; one of Castiel losing everything, because maybe he had made Samandriel too happy, and the boy had slipped.

One where Castiel was now alone.

Well, Dean thought as he turned to the final box, it had worked; he had learned more about Castiel going through this room than he had searching the rest of the house. He was getting what he wanted, and it didn't sit right in his stomach.

The last box was a little larger than the shoe boxes, and he pulled it in front of his lap, grabbing the side flaps and opening them.

"Nothing on TV, I take it?"

Dean flinched so hard, he nearly knocked the box over, the sudden voice from the door almost making him yelp from surprise- _almost_. He stared wide-eyed, mouth agape, at Castiel's form standing in the open doorway. No words, not even sounds, were making their way through his open mouth at first, and it felt like his brain had short-circuited.

"Uh- I, um..." Dean said intelligently. He glanced around at the situation, at all of the open boxes of Castiel's private personal life spread out over the bed, with Dean sitting right in the middle of it, shamelessly digging through them. There were no excuses. He had no idea how he was going to talk his way out of this one. Should he say he was sorry? _Was_ he sorry? Would Castiel be angry? Was he going to kick Dean out now? What the hell was he thinking, not listening for the door? How long was he even in here?

He snapped out of his little inner tirade when he hear a soft chuckle coming from the door, and he looked up. Relief flooded through him when he was Castiel was lightly smirking.

"It's fine," Castiel said. "I don't blame your curiosity. I'd look around myself, if I were in your position."

Castiel walked over to the bed and sat down diagonally across from Dean, facing him. Automatically, his hand went for the first shoebox Dean had opened. His smile turned nostalgic, and maybe a little sad, as he flipped through some of the pictures.

A few moments of silence passed, and Dean felt he really ought to say something.

"I, uh..." he started, keeping his eyes on the only box he hadn't snooped through. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" gone through your shit? Invaded your privacy after you saved my life? Trespassed on the memory of your late brother by taking out all of the things you had hidden away, and forced you to look at them again? "I mean-"

"I said it's fine, Dean," Castiel said, and Dean met his eyes to see if he was telling the truth. "If I were absolutely against the idea of you looking around, I would have asked you to stay in your room, or better yet, not invited you into my home." He looked down at the picture in his hands and smiled at it. "If anything, I should thank you; I haven't seen these in a very long time."

Dean watched Castiel look through the old photographs for a long while. A quick glance to his watch told him that he had been in here for almost three hours; he didn't know where the time went, or better yet, how he hadn't noticed so much of it had passed.

The box in front of him had only one flap open, and he so badly wanted to know it's contents; it was on the heavy side for it's size, and when he had moved it, he could hear several objects shifting around inside. He was more than a little curious, but he didn't want to push his luck and sift through it, not after he had already been caught going through the other boxes.

He was content to sit there and wait for his host to dismiss him from the room. If Castiel really wasn't mad at his invasion, and wanted to keep helping him despite it, he would consider himself grateful.

When Castiel eyed the box of letters, he frowned at it, his eyebrows drawing together. The sight of them seemed to upset him, but he picked the box up anyway and opened the top letter.

"You read these, I'm guessing?" Castiel asked while glaring at the name on the envelope.

There was no point in lying at this stage.

"Yeah," Dean answered softly. He could tell by Castiel's reaction to them that they were a sensitive matter, but damn it, he had never been so curious about someone else's life before. "Could I ask- who was Anna?"

Castiel didn't answer right away, and Dean thought it best not to talk anymore.

"Anna is my sister." Castiel told him quietly. "We used to be close when we were younger, but we... we grew apart after Samandriel was born. She married a while back, and has moved since we last spoke, I don't even know where she is now. I didn't have the heart to tell my brother she changed her address."

There was a faint bitterness in his voice, and the urge to know more details threatened to make Dean ask about it, but he needed to reel himself in; this was obviously not something Castiel wanted to talk about, and while he had had no problem going through the man's life when he was unaware, he was not so rude that he would draw Castiel's attention to the things he wanted to forget.

Instead, he moved the topic away from his mysterious sister and the letters, and steered it towards something Castiel might enjoy to talk about.

"You guys saw a lot of places," Dean said, nodding towards the box of pictures. "I gotta say, I've driven all over the country, and even I haven't seen the Grand Canyon."

Something soft fluttered in Dean's chest when he saw Castiel smile at the other shoebox, pulling the pictures closer, and abandoning the letters to his side.

"Yes," Castiel agreed, flipping through more photographs until he came to the one of the both of them standing in front of the canyon. "Samandriel was adamant about going. I used to read him a lot of adventure stories growing up, and he used to stay up all night planning his own adventures."

So the fiction novels were Samandriel's, too, or at least something he shared with him. Was there anything personal of Castiel's in this house that wasn't connected to his brother?

They lapsed into an easy silence, as Castiel went through the shoebox, laughing at some of the pictures while Dean leaned in to see which ones he was looking at. Sometimes Castiel would give him some background on what was going on in the picture at the time it was taken, or telling him a story of something that had happened that day. It was nice, just listening, watching the man reminisce.

At one point, Castiel must have noticed Dean glancing at the unopened box, and he nodded at it.

"It's alright," he said. "Really. Now that I'm seeing everything, I want to look through it myself. And I know you want to know what's in it."

No disagreement there, but he did have the decency to look a little sheepish when he started opening the flaps.

Inside the box were a bunch of loose objects, and, carefully, Dean withdrew some of them. The first thing he grabbed was an old Polaroid camera that Castiel reached out for, smiling fondly.

"Samandriel bought this at a pawn shop the first day we set out. Said it was the best thirty dollars he ever spent."

Dean smiled at the trivia before returning to the box. Next to come out was a heavy snow globe with a surfing snowman inside.

"That was from Key West," Castiel informed him. "He thought it was funny that Florida would sell beach-themed snow globes for winter."

That was how they carried on for several minutes- Dean would remove a souvenir from the box, and Castiel would provide commentary for it. The whole box was nothing but the objects Samandriel had obtained on their 'adventures,' and most of the stories were pretty funny. By the time the box was almost empty, Dean thought he knew Samandriel pretty well for having never met him.

Dean found himself really enjoying Castiel's stories, not just for the content, but for the way he told them. When Dean pulled something out, Castiel would start cracking up at the sight of it, and through his laughter, he would try to share what memory the item had brought up. Most of the stories were the 'you-had-to have-been-there' type, but the way Castiel reacted to them was contagious. He could tell it had been a long time since his host had laughed like this, and it was like he was a part of something special, watching Castiel remember these things.

They were both laughing in the wake of another story when Dean took out a porcelain figurine. It was of a male angel with large black wings about the size of his hand.

"Wow," Dean said. "This is beautiful, what-"

He stopped talking at the look on Castiel's face; his lips were thin, his eyebrows bunching together, and there was a lot of sadness in his eyes. Carefully, he took the small angel and stared at it for a few seconds.

"I had forgotten about this," he stated, and Dean felt he was doing a good job at keeping his voice even. "It was a birthday gift. Sammy said it reminded him of me when he saw it. Said I was his guardian angel."

Castiel smiled bitterly at the figurine.

"Some angel I turned out to be."

Without thinking, Dean reached forward and placed his hand on Castiel's knee.

"Don't say things like that," he told him. "I may not know the whole story, but from I can see here, Samandriel lived a good life with you. You did right by him."

Dean stalled at the look Castiel gave him, a mixture of disbelief and gratitude, like he wanted to believe what Dean was telling him, but he didn't quite accept it as truth. They stared at each other for a moment before Dean suddenly remembered that he was still touching him, and withdrew his hand with a small smile.

"In any case," he said to save face; just because he was awkward didn't make anything he said less true. "You were a pretty cool big brother."

They lapsed into another silence, and though it wasn't unsettling, it wasn't as comfortable as it was before. Castiel was went from staring at Dean to looking back at the angel in his hands, and Dean started to feel genuine guilt. This was his fault; why did he have to go snooping around and make Castiel relive such sad moments?

"Do you wanna stop?" Dean asked when the silence stretched too long. Again, Castiel didn't answer right away.

"No," he said with certainty. Castiel leaned over and gently placed the angel figurine on the end table beside the bed. "I would like to see what else is in the box. Please, keep going."

With a small pause, trying to see if Castiel was telling him the truth, Dean returned to the box. There were only a few more objects inside, and he sincerely hoped they were tied to happy memories.

Luckily, they were. The laughs were a little subdued at first, but by the time the box was empty, they were both genuinely smiling again. Dean was especially glad to see Castiel was in good spirits by the end of it; this could have gone a very different way when Dean was caught looking around in here, and again when they found the porcelain angel. Castiel could have gotten angry, or worse, immensely sad. Dean didn't want to be responsible for upsetting Castiel, not now that he knew how good of a guy he was.

"Thank you, Dean."

The words caught Dean off guard, and he couldn't help himself from immediately replying with-

"For what?" He also couldn't help the small blush that crept over his cheeks when he saw the open, honest look Castiel was giving him.

"It has been years since I've seen any of these things," Castiel explained, gesturing towards the bed. "I only come in here once a month, and that's just to dust, to keep the room clean."

Castiel looked around the room then.

"Ever since he was taken, I haven't been able to think about my little brother without becoming incredibly sad, and over the years, I had forgotten all of this. It is nice to be able to remember Samandriel and all of the good times we had together and be able to laugh. More than nice, it's refreshing." He turned to look at Dean then. "So thank you. For reminding me. I get that that was not your original intention for coming in here," he added with a knowing look, and Dean looked down with another sheepish smile. "But nonetheless, I am grateful that you did this."

With a last look around, Castiel stood up.

"I'm going to go make us something to eat. Would you mind...?"

"Yeah," Dean said, standing up himself. "Yeah, I'll put everything away."

Still smiling, Castiel turned to leave the room, but stalled as he passed the end table before picking up the angel figurine and walking out of the door.

Dean stood there for a moment, letting what he had just seen, and everything he had learned, sink in. As he carefully placed each sentimental item back into the box, he thought back to each of their stories before returning the box to it's original place in the closet. The shoe boxes of pictures and letters followed, and Dean was adamant about placing them precisely as he found them.

He glanced at his watch, and saw that it was almost seven o'clock. How had the time gone by so quickly?

His mind was reeling. It was true he had hoped searching this room would give him some answers to what the man who saved him was really like, but he had gotten so much more information than he had bartered for. Not that he was upset by any means; if anything, he was glad to have learned so much about Castiel in such a short amount of time. Now there were no doubts that he could trust him, no doubts that he was safe here staying with him.

But it felt uneven.

Dean now knew a large amount of personal things about Castiel, things that he might never have shared with Dean on his own, where as Castiel knew next to nothing about him. The only things the man knew about Dean were that he was a Luministia and drove a black Impala, and while one of those facts was personal information, neither of them he had shared willingly. It didn't sit well with him. Surely the man who had done so much for him, not the least of which was safe his life, deserved better than that.

An idea came to him then. It wasn't exactly something he wanted to do, and he doubted he would enjoy it, but it would make this whole situation a little closer to being fair.

With an odd sense of determination, coupled with the willpower not to talk himself out of it, he headed towards the kitchen where he could smell meat cooking.

Castiel was standing at the stove, flipping pre-packaged burgers when Dean found him, and he lingered in the walkway between the dining room and the kitchen, waiting for the man to sense his presence. With a quick look in his direction, Castiel addressed him.

"Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes, would you mind setting the table?"

There was no shame in delaying, he told himself. It's not like he was in a hurry or anything, and besides, Castiel was busy. So Dean waited until he set the table. And for Castiel to bring in the dinner loaded plates. And for them to eat, because he _was_ rather hungry.

All too soon, the plates were empty, and their stomachs were satisfyingly full, and Dean couldn't see any more excuses to put it off. So when Castiel went to grab his plate to clear the table, Dean asked him to wait a second.

"Alright," he started, wiping his mouth with his napkin and keeping his eyes on the table. "I'm gonna suggest something here. Now, I get that you didn't take what I did in a bad way, which is a little weird because I went through your stuff, but hey, I'm not complaining. Still, I- I feel kind of bad-"

"Dean," Castiel interrupted. "I already told you, it's-"

"-fine, yeah," Dean finished. "Yeah, I know. But I still feel like, I don't know, like it's uneven, or something. It's not like you can go through my shit, you know?"

Dean almost cringed; it all sounded so much better in his head.

"What I'm trying to say is- if there was anything you wanted to know about me, you can, you know, ask."

He glanced up to see if Castiel was following him.

"I'm not exactly the over-sharing type, but I figured, just this once, I can open the floor to any questions you might have. But only ten."

A short pause followed Dean's offer, and when he looked up, he saw Castiel watching him closely, almost studying him through squinted eyes.

"Ten questions," Castiel repeated.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "Just ten."

Castiel hummed as he looked up in thought.

"Better make them good, then," he said. There was another stretch of silence before he asked. "Does this offer expire?"

"What?"

"Well, Castiel continued. "Say I don't ask all ten questions right now, say I only ask five- can I ask the other five questions at latter times?"

Dean thought about that for a second, but he didn't see how he could come to regret accepting that deal.

"Yeah, sure," he accepted. "They don't expire. Just make sure you say you wanna use one of your questions so I know."

"Do they have to be asked in the form of a question, or can I just ask you to tell me about something specific?"

"What is this, Jeopardy?" Dean asked with only a hint of frustration. "Whatever, just- if you wanna know about something, you can ask."

"Hmm..."

The longer Castiel sat there in thought, the more antsy Dean got with anticipation. He was almost starting to regret bringing this up, and practically sighed in relief when the blue-eyed man finally asked the first question.

"Alright," he started. "I guess the first thing I'm curious about is... Do you have any family?"

That was a fair first question. Not too personal or private, but still informative.

"Yeah," Dean answered. "I have a dad back in Kansas, and a little brother, Sam. He's in college."

"And your mother?"

"Is that a separate question?"

It was an obvious dodge, but it got the point across; Dean did not want to discuss his mother. He was grateful when Castiel diverted from the subject.

"No," Castiel said, absentmindedly playing with his napkin while he thought of another question. "If it's not too personal... Why aren't you staying with your family?"

Dean chuckled lightly.

"You actually know that one," he answered, and smirking at the confused look Castiel gave him for it. "Because almost every time I'm with my family, I end up getting..." he searched a word that wasn't 'hunted.' "-_caught_. First time you saw me, I was visiting them at our cabin. Sometimes, when I'm around them, I uh- I slip. I'm not with them because it's not safe."

Not for Dean. Not for them.

"How many people know about you? I mean, that you're Luministia?"

"Just my family. And now you. Oh, and that... guy."

"I see," Castiel said. "Alright, just one more question, then I think I will call it a night."

Dean looked up at him and waited with bated breath for the last thing Castiel wanted to know about him. Blue eyes met his, and he held Dean's gaze.

"Will you stay?"

The inquiry gave Dean pause; he didn't really know how he should answer it.

"I don't wanna make any promises," he declared. "To be honest with you, I don't really know. It's nice here, and I like what you're offering, but..." He let out a humorless laugh. "It's not like I'm really in a position to move in, you know?"

"If you're worried about paying rent-"

"No," Dean shook his head, and waved his hand dismissively. "I mean, I know you get my situation, and it's not like I can't pull my own weight with chores and stuff, but- I just can't answer the question for long-term. I can't give you a time frame. I don't know if I'll wanna be here next month, or even next week."

He watched as Castiel looked down at the table, crestfallen.

"I see."

"But," Dean continued, and he tried not to think about the fluttering feeling he got in his chest when Castiel looked up at him hopefully. "You know, as of now- yeah. Yeah, I'll stay."

It wasn't much of an answer, but it was the only one he had. Luckily, it seemed to be enough for his host, who smiled at him before standing up.

"How many was that? Four?" Castiel asked as he picked up the plates. Dean got up himself and grabbed the glasses and napkins, following him into the kitchen. "So that leaves me with six questions. I will be using them." He added, looking at Dean over his shoulder as they set the dishes in the sink.

"Great," Dean said sarcastically. "I look forward it."

When Castiel made to grab the sponge, Dean took it from him.

"Hey, I got this," he told him. "You cooked."

"No, it's fine, you must be tired."

"I said I got this. Go back to bed."

Castiel backed away from the sink.

"Am I being shooed out of my own kitchen?" he asked with a laugh. He started to make his way towards the hall when he stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him.

"Thank you, Dean."

"It's just dishes," Dean said as he set the faucet to a warm temperature. "No big deal."

"I don't mean that. Just- thank you."

Dean turned around just in time to see Castiel's back retreating towards the living room.

When he returned later to the guest bedroom (he didn't feel comfortable calling it 'his room' yet.) he found some folded clothes and a bath towel laying on the dresser, next to a small bag of new toiletries. After a surprisingly relaxing shower, he got into bed, feeling miles different than he had the last time he had laid in it.

This time yesterday, he had woken up in a very different bed. Had it really only been twenty-four hours? It amazed Dean that so much could happen in such a short amount of time. In the span of a single day, he had gone from kidnapped, to rescued, to thinking he was being kept by another hunter, to having a safe haven. And now that he knew so much about his savior, he really did feel safe here.

Maybe he could entertain the idea of staying here.

Moments after falling asleep, his skin gave off a faint glow that he would immediately diminish when he woke up the next morning.


End file.
